White Nile

White Nile

by Gavin Rudgley

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2012 Gavin Rudgley

Discover other titles by Gavin Rudgley at http://www.Smashwords.com

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Alistair and Tom Banks, fresh from their adventures in Sicily and Malta recovering lost treasure, make for Egypt to explore the land of the Pharaohs. On their arrival in Alexandria, they are immediately marked out by the Egyptian authorities for smuggling ivory. Ignorant of the suspicion they have aroused, they travel to Cairo with Hugh Frampton to then join him for a cruise up the Nile. Arrested and interrogated, their only salvation lies in them agreeing to assist the police in finding the real criminals. As events unfold, they are drawn ever further into the heart of Africa and a complex web of intrigue.

Away to the west in Chad, Abakar has been press-ganged into joining a band of poachers, slaughtering elephants in the Zakouma National Park. Desperate to escape from it all, he grasps the only ray of hope that crosses his path; a tiny advertisement in a public telephone booth for the Elefant Preservation Trust.

Their lives in danger, the Banks' future is entwined with that of Abakar. Armed with their own initiative, and with the support of Francis Allamande, the Banks' saviour from Malta, they head for an encounter that none will forget.

~~~~~~

Chapter 1 Departure

Tom's feet pounded the narrow streets of Syracuse, throwing up clouds of dust as he sprinted towards the stony beach where he and his father, Alistair, had first come ashore on Sicily.

Once again, his uncanny ability to find trouble had thrown good intentions to one side. It was becoming a habit, an affliction almost. When they had arrived at this beach a month or so ago, it had been his father who been knocked unconscious and abducted by Dimitri Makalos' thugs while Tom had been chased through the streets by the local Sicilian police force.

Now, Tom's crime was no more than a smashed rear screen on a parked car. Late again, he had flown down from Doctor Porcini's country residence on his designer Italian bike and in his haste, failed to spot the Renault Laguna that posed a passive threat to careless cyclists. Sprinting away from the junction, his head to the floor, he had failed to notice the hazard until it was too late to do anything about it. An instant later and he had parted company with his bike and gone airborne, flying across the low roof of the vehicle to land, as luck would have it, on a pile of rubbish sacks.

Uninjured, he had struggled to his feet to take stock. The owner of the car, a middle aged man laden with bags was emerging from the nearby shop, a look of surprised horror across his face. A dozen or so others were distracted from their business by the explosion of glass that had erupted from the impact then to shower down across the narrow street.

The car owner took one look at his damaged vehicle, the crumpled bike and the dishevelled cyclist. Putting two and two together, he dropped his bags and strode towards Tom. Tom's wellbeing was clearly not top of the man's priorities.

Tom took stock. Any moment now, the police would arrive, there would be statements to make, an exchange of contact details, heated words. Sorting out the mess he had created was not going to be straightforward. This was bad news as the reason that Tom had been in such a rush was so that he and his father could leave on the morning tide. Getting out of Syracuse harbour was much easier if they were with the flow, rather than fighting against it. And with the prospect of a long open sea voyage, Alistair had been very clear that he wanted to preserve as much fuel as possible.

The man was getting closer and the stream of curses was starting to build to a crescendo. Tom had a simple choice; stay to sort it out and delay their departure, or turn and run. It was unlikely that the man would pursue him across the Mediterranean to Egypt, just for the cost of repairing the rear end of his car.

The decision was straightforward. With an apologetic shrug of his shoulders and pausing only to retrieve his rucksack with the binoculars from their yacht, Genie, which they had inadvertently left at Doctor Porcini's villa, Tom turned and sprinted away. It was a mile or so to the beach. With luck, and helped by a downhill slope, he'd make it in less than ten minutes. He made it to the first bend in the road and looked back to see the man madly waving his arms and mouthing curses after him. He hesitated for a moment; was he right to run? Yes, there was no arguing with the tide. Tom turned and sprinted away leaving the scene of destruction behind him.

Two or three more streets and he could smell the salt laden air, drifting in on the morning breeze. And then suddenly, the glittering surface of the bay emerged between the ancient stone buildings. Tom was beginning to tire and he slowed down first to a gentle jog and then to walk. Finally, he was at the top of the small beach on the north side of the Ortygia, the island that thrust out from the end of a causeway into the Mediterranean. Before him, the vast natural harbour of Syracuse opened up, four kilometres from north to south and two from east to west. Tom recalled the tale of the Athenian fleet being annihilated by the Sicilian forces in 413BC, relayed to them by Helena on their first day. And there she was, standing with his father, Alistair, near the water's edge.

As he made his way across the beach, he dislodged the stones that rattled against each other. Alistair heard the noise and turned to watch him approach.

Where have you been? What took you so long? he asked, and then when he realised that Tom was on foot, Where is the bike?

Tom waited until they were together before replying. Well, err, I had a slight accident, he said, sheepishly.

Helena laughed. Not again! What happened this time? Looking down, she noticed the state of Tom's clothes and then picked up the scent of the split rubbish sacks. What's that smell?

Well, I'd prefer not to talk about it. Can we get going?

Alistair frowned. Tell me what happened once we're underway. Come on, let's get the dinghy. They recovered Genie's boat from the side of the harbourmaster's hut and carried it down to the water's edge.

The sun was now above the horizon and the day was beginning to heat up. Helena walked slowly alongside, her arms wrapped around her slender body.

They put the dinghy down, half in and half out the water. Alistair was first to turn to Helena to bid her farewell. He hugged her tightly.

Take care of yourself, Helena. I'm glad it's worked out for you. I hope the research with Doctor Porcini goes well. I'll be looking out for that first book!

She smiled up at him. Thank you, Alistair. I wouldn't be here without you and I'll never forget that.

Hardly, Alistair answered. And left to your own devices, the journey might have been easier! Alistair stood back to let Tom say goodbye.

Tom and Helena didn't say a word, just nodded and held each other tightly. Helena had a tear in her eye. We'll come back after Egypt if that's all right, he whispered.

Of course it is, Helena replied.

Tom hesitated. Should he? He hadn't said it before.

I love you, he added gently.

Helena backed away and smiled at him. Then drew him close and kissed him. Tom felt the back of the neck tingling as he felt her lips press against his.

Come on, Tom, time to go, his father interrupted. We've a long way to go and I'd rather keep the nights spent at sea to a minimum. Alistair had climbed into the dinghy and placed the oars in the thwarts.

Reluctantly, Tom finally released Helena and walked forward to climb in alongside his father. With his eyes locked with Helena's, he settled himself down. OK, Dad, let's go.

Alistair lent forward and pulled on the oars, thrusting them out into deeper water and towards Genie.

Twenty minutes later, they were onboard and had Genie underway. Tom sat by the transom looking back at Helena's diminishing figure, standing alone on the beach. Alistair was looking away, focusing his attention on the distant harbour entrance. Do you think you could tear your eyes away and help me get through the narrows? he asked.

Yes, of course, Tom replied. He waved his arm aloft in a final farewell, and joined his father by the helm.

Ahead of them, a few fishing boats were heading in with the early morning catch. Apart from Genie, there was only one other yacht in sight, and it was heading their way at speed. As they passed close by, Tom could see it was a sizeable ocean going affair with mainsail and jib aloft and full with the wind.

Alistair waved across in greeting. Hello there! he called out.

There were three men on the upper deck, all watching them intently. None of them waved back, nor showed any emotion on their stony faces.

Strange, Tom said.

Yes, they weren't very polite, were they, Alistair answered.

No, not that. The waterline. That yacht was very low in the water.

Alistair looked back. Yes, you're right. She is. With the freeboard that low, she must have a heaving cargo, and by the looks of the crew, it probably isn't too legal. Best we stay out of it! We don't want any more trouble.

Tom forced a laugh. No, we don't.

Yet despite their own good humour, Tom had a feeling that their visit to Egypt was not going to be as peaceful as they were hoping. African Adventure was the name painted on the transom of the other yacht. African adventure, indeed, he thought.

The ancient town of Syracuse was well behind them when Alistair finally let Tom take over at the helm. Alistair hadn't been surprised when Doctor Porcini had declined the opportunity to come down to the beach to see them off, claiming he wasn't one for farewells and adding that they were more than welcome to come back at any time. Henri and old Marco, loyal to the end, had fallen in line with their master and remained at the villa with him.

They had nothing against Doctor Porcini, of course. Indeed, when his suspicions about Alistair, Tom and Helena being guilty of stealing Eurymedon's sword from his prized collection were proved false, and they had then been instrumental in its recovery, his kindness to them could not have been greater. They had toured Sicily together, Henri driving, Doctor Porcini acting as guide and picking up expenses wherever they stayed.

Tom had even realised his desire to climb Mount Etna and stare down into the fiery crater through the sulphurous clouds. The rest of them had taken the easy option and gone by helicopter.

But their tour of Sicily had come to an end and they had returned to the villa in the hills above Syracuse. Days had passed slowly, each starting with the sun rising through the pine forest as the birds started their morning chorus. Their seclusion kept the world at bay, and so Alistair increasingly found excuses to accompany Henri into town. He needed to fix this part on Genie, explore that area of town, visit the old library; anything to get himself away from the villa. When he started to return to the villa with new charts of the Eastern end of the Mediterranean, it became apparent to all that Alistair was ready to leave.

Alistair's increasing frustration over wanting to depart had been mirrored equally by Tom's desire to stay. He and Helena had grown ever closer. At first, Alistair considered this to be good for his son, particularly as Tom was starting to mature into his years. He started to change his mind when he detected signs that Tom's feelings for Helena were perhaps not matched by those of the girl from Malta.

Alistair had started to gently introduce the idea that they needed to move on, as father and son. Everyone picked up on this. Everyone that is, except Tom. Alistair tried to be less subtle and still his son failed to notice, caught up in the throes of young love. Eventually, Alistair had to be blunt.

Tom, we need to leave soon. We're in danger of overstaying our welcome. I suggest a week from today. We'll need that long to sort out Genie.

At first, Tom protested. Then gradually, as it became increasingly clear that his father was serious, he relented. They spent the next few days travelling daily to the harbour, leaving early in the morning and returning late afternoon in time for dinner.

On day three, they moved on board. Alistair argued that they needed to become re-accustomed to life on board Genie. The real reason that he kept to himself was that Tom needed to get used to not being with Helena.

As it turned out, Genie had needed more work than he had expected. Two months in the Mediterranean in the salt-laden heated atmosphere had taken their toll. All the deck fixings had started to corrode and the teak deck needed recoating. Inside, they had accumulated all manner of items from their time chasing Dimitri Makalos around Malta. Tents and cycling gear filled the forward cabin, with maps and binoculars scattered about elsewhere. Worse were the remains of the provisions. They had stored more than they had needed, anticipating a longer hunt than that which had occurred. A day of cleaning had left Genie higher in the water and Tom sore from rowing to and from the shore in the dinghy, recently recovered from the harbour authorities in Catania.

The hardest job was repairing the mainsail. Alistair had to raise Tom up in a harness for his son to patch over the single bullet hole. The result stood out a mile, a permanent reminder that you shouldn't mess with people you don't know.

Eventually, they were ready to depart. They had dined at the villa one last time and took the opportunity to sleep once again in a wide and comfortable bed on a floor that didn't rock.

And now they were on their way. With Tom keeping them on course, Alistair finally let himself relax on the bench seat alongside his son.

Well, that's the last of Sicily. For a while at any rate. Head out of the harbour and set a course to the south east. Next stop, Egypt.

At first, Tom didn't respond. Then, as his father's words sank in, his face slowly lit up. For a while? Do you mean we can go back?

Of course. What did you expect? Apart from anything else, it would be rude not to, given Syracuse is on our route home to Portsmouth.

Tom looked visibly relieved. I thought.... His words trailed off when he saw his father's expression.

Of course we'll go back. You'll want to see Helena, won't you? Alistair grinned.

Yes. Yes, I will, Tom answered. Another pause as he corrected their course. The early morning breeze had died and the wind now was almost too light to fill the sails. Tom was finding it difficult to get any speed up at all. Once he was content with the set up, he continued. Look, I'm sorry I've been a bit down. I guess I'm not very good at saying goodbye. Presumably it gets easier?

Don't worry. And no it doesn't. You just learn to keep a stiff upper lip. So what do you think about Egypt?

Honestly? It sounds great. The pyramids and all those sculptures. What do you call those big lion statues?

The Sphinx? Body of a lion, head of a man?

That's them. And there's other temples as well, isn't there? Apart from the pyramids, that is.

Is that the best you can do? I thought you did ancient history at school?

They taught ancient history, yes. Doesn't mean I was a good listener. Tom grinned, cheekily.

Alistair shook his head in despair. Hold on a second. He climbed around Tom and disappeared inside. A few seconds later he returned with the tourist map of Egypt he'd picked up from a rack at the library.

Look, he instructed Tom as he unfolded the map. We're heading towards Alexandria on the western edge of the Nile delta.

Tom glanced down at the map, but quickly had to look up again as the wind was starting to pick up. What's the green triangle at the top, and the line that goes down?

Alistair realised he'd have to start with basics. That's the Nile, flowing up from Ethiopia and out into the Mediterranean through its vast delta. Alexandria is on the western side of the delta and Port Said on the eastern side near the entrance to the Suez Canal. Cairo is at the base of the delta on the banks of the Nile before the river branches out into its various courses.

Sounds straightforward. So where are we going?

Alexandria, at least to start with. There was another naval battle there, not quite as ancient as the one here at Syracuse. I thought we could call in and see if we visualise the engagement.

Tom chuckled. Are you trying to be Helena?

Alistair knew what he was referring to; Helena's tale of the engagement between the defending Syracuse populace and the Athenians. She had recounted the tale in so dramatic a style that Alistair had thought he could smell the blood and smoke, and hear the cries and clash of bronze as the two sides came together. Alistair hadn't meant that their imminent visit to Aboukir Bay was to be recreated in quite the same theatrical style. Or had he? No, in hindsight, he felt embarrassed.

I wasn't. At least not intentionally. He thought about it some more.

Perhaps I was, although I hadn't meant to. There, it was out. He was missing Helena's company as well.

So, Egypt. He changed the subject. What I suggest is we leave Genie at Alexandria and take the train to Cairo. There, we arrange to join a cruise on up the Nile.

Why by train? Why not sail? Tom asked.

I've looked into it. There are some channels that go from the sea to Cairo. But there are bridges along the way and the water is reputedly shallow. There is no guarantee the Genie with her mast and deep keel would make it. And it's all or nothing. If we don't make Cairo, we'd have to return to the sea as there are no marinas inland. It'll be safer to err on the side of caution and leave Genie at Alexandria. We should be able to moor securely in the old harbour. And the train will be a different way to travel.

Tom raised his eyebrows. Different? Um, that's one word.

Alistair could understand what was going through Tom's mind. He too thought that a train journey in Egypt would not be the same as one the UK, or indeed Europe. Rush hour from a central London station in the height of summer when the previous train had been cancelled, maybe.

So what about Egypt? What are we going to see? Tom asked, interrupting his thoughts.

Well, as we leave Cairo, there's Abydos, the birthplace of Osiris. Then there is the Temple of Hathor, goddess of heaven, love and joy at Dendarah.

Alistair ran finger his along the tourist map as he listed out the main sites.

Never heard of them, Tom declared.

Alistair frowned. Be persistent, he thought. Luxor is the first main site. The temple of Karnak is on one side and the Valley of the Kings on the other. You've heard of them, I suppose?

Tom looked shocked. Of course I have!

Alistair sighed in relief that his son wasn't a complete buffoon when it came to ancient Egypt.

They feature in 'Revenge of Set', Tom declared proudly.

Alistair was worried. In what?

Tom grinned. 'Revenge of Set', the computer game I played a lot when I was at school.

Alistair refused to rise to the bait and carried on, ignoring Tom's teenage humour. There are more temples after that, at Esna, then Edfu and Kom Ombo. After that, the way is somewhat blocked by the Aswan dam.

After Alistair had concluded his rapid tour of ancient Egypt, Tom remained silent for a while. Then, presumably as parts of his history class started to drift back, he realised what was missing. Apart from the obvious, the pyramids, you haven't mentioned Abu Simbel.

Alistair was impressed. Ah, yes, the temple of Rameses with four giant statues facing east to greet the morning sun. You need to get a plane from Aswan to see that. We can do that too. Alistair was afraid to ask the key question, but felt he had to. So what do you think? Sound like a good plan?

Tom focussed on the horizon as the sun rose to light up the morning as he considered his answer.

Sounds like a great plan, Dad. Sounds really cool. He glanced at his father and smiled. As he did so, his sadness at leaving Syracuse and Helena slid away. Seriously, I can't wait.

Alistair folded the map up again. Life was good, he thought to himself. Life was indeed, good.

From Syracuse, they took turns at the helm sailing a steady course due east towards the southern tip of Greece, making landfall again in three days. They stayed in the harbour at Gythio, a coastal town south of Sparta, for a day to recover and replenish with fresh water and food. The small harbour accommodated between twenty or thirty other yachts and lay between the old town and the new. Ferries called in at a berth outside the harbour. Tom and Alistair spent a while watching the ferries come and go to places with strange names. Kythira, Kissamos, Diakofti. They wandered out to a small island, joined to the mainland by a small causeway and sat on a beach looking back to the harbour, and Genie.

With the first leg under their belt, Alistair suggested they spend some more time in Greece. Perhaps take a taxi to visit Sparti, better known as Sparta, the town that had played such a pivotal role in the ancient wars.

Tom was having none of it. Firstly, the plan was for Egypt and, he argued, if you have a plan, stick to it. Secondly, he'd had his fill of Greek mythology for the time being and would prefer something different, if Alistair didn't mind. On this, Alistair was inclined to agree. Lastly, Greece would always be there, and it would be good to save perhaps the best for last. So that clinched it.

They left Gythio as soon as they were ready and headed for Kissamos, a port on the northern side of Crete. They timed their departure to be just ahead of the ferry. The ferry to Crete soon caught them up and they were able to take up a position line astern. The wake of the ferry laid out their course like a great line in the sea, greatly simplifying the task of navigation. After a while, the ferry disappeared into the distance and its tell-tale path dispersed into the sea around them. Once again, they were alone, the island of Crete some 150 nautical miles away.

With a fair wind, they found themselves in sight of the coast of Crete the following evening. As they approached, the lights of houses and hotels flickered on, one by one. By the time it was dark, they were able to follow the lights along the coast towards Kissamos. They dropped the anchor in a small bay, alongside some other boats.

Safety in numbers for tonight, Alistair observed. Tom nodded in response. Alistair left it at that. They were both tired and conversation could wait till the morning.

The wind died during the night with the result that both father and son slept late. It was the noise of a radio on a nearby boat that finally woke Alistair. His watch told him it was late morning. If they were going to make their next stop today, they should leave soon.

Without waking Tom, Alistair started the engine and pulled up the anchor. With the autopilot on, he raised the mainsail in the vain hope that he might pick up a little wind. An hour later, with the sail cloth flapping idly, he gave up and dropped it again. Sighing, he reached forward and opened the throttle. Today would be a day under power.

The vibration created by the engine finally woke Tom. He emerged from the cabin looking a little worse for wear. Where are we? Alistair's eyes opened wide in surprise. Tom's croaky voice made him sound old beyond his years. You sound dreadful. Are you coming down with something?

Yes. Cabin fever, I think. Tom grinned.

Ha ha. You can take the helm for that. I'm going to make some coffee.

Alistair made Tom breakfast, and they quickly fell back into their routine at sea, each taking a few hours at the helm while the other rested. Their course took them around the western end of Crete to Palaiochora, an up-and-coming tourist trap with a modern harbour at the end of a peninsula.

Somehow, Alistair found himself in charge of getting provisions while Tom dived in the crystal clear water. They would need to be well stocked as the next and final leg from Palaiochora to Alexandria would be about 400 miles. At most, this would be four days at sea. With the weather being unpredictable, wind one day, calm the next, Alistair was relieved that he had had Genie fitted with additional fuel tanks to extend her range. In theory, they could motor for a week without running out of diesel.

They left as soon as they could, Palaiochora having nothing to offer them. They stopped briefly at a small island called Gavdos. It was the most southerly Greek island, barren, and with only sixty or so permanent residents.

Kalypso imprisoned Odysseus here, you know, Alistair commented in an effort to break the tedium of being at sea. Tom shrugged.

Tobruk is due south of here, you know, where the English and Germans chased each other up and down the coast during the Second World War. Still no reaction.

Alistair didn't mind. In a couple of days, he'd reveal his surprise, something to end their voyage on a high note and set them up for Egypt. Looking at his watch, he did a quick mental calculation. The timing would be perfect.

~~~~~~

Chapter 2 Alexandria

On the third day out from Gavdos, Tom was at the helm when shortly after breakfast, Alistair disappeared below to check their position.

Excellent, he cried out. We'll make the Egyptian coast in the early afternoon. Exactly as planned.

He went forward and rummaged around looking for the surprise he had prepared for Tom. The noise attracted his son's attention.

Dad, what are you up to down there? he called out.

Alistair emerged proudly carrying a book which he thrust at Tom. This would do it. This was going to energise his son, build him up in anticipation of Egypt.

I'll take the helm, you read that. Chapter four. Nelson at the Nile.

Tom looked up to his father in despair. What are you? My history teacher?

His father seemed to be enjoying this renewed authority. "You had better believe