Excerpt:

 

Multi-billionaire oil baron, Mac3, maker of terrible films, discusses pyramids

 

‘You into ancient monuments, Mac?’ said Mick.

 

It was diversionary tactic, but almost immediately, Mick realised it was a question he shouldn’t have asked.

 

Mac3 frowned.

 

‘What’s ancient about the pyramid? From what I remember, they knocked it up in the early 90s. In fact, I went to the opening - fantastic - slot machines and bazoomers as far as the eye could see.’

 

‘You mean The Pyramid - that hotel in Las Vegas?’

 

‘Is there another?’

 

‘Well, there’s three at Giza.’

 

Mac3 stopped - and frowned, again.

 

‘Giza? Giza? Now I know you guys in Great - forgive the snicker - Britain don’t speak English properly, but Mac3 is getting confused here.’

 

‘I only spent a few days in Shithole UK but I picked up some of your lingo. I know a bloke is a guy, right? And a geezer is an even better guy, like, he’s a right diamond geezer. But, I don’t get the pyramid connection.’

 

‘I’m talking about the pyramids at Giza, near Cairo.’

 

‘You’ll have to forgive the ignorance of a simple farm boy, guys, but I never been to China. But are you sayin’ China got a pyramid. Shit, they’ll copy anythin’.’

 

Mick was hanging on like grim death.

 

‘No, I’m talking about the pyramids in Giza, Cairo, Egypt.’

 

‘Right, I’m with you, now. I understand. How many slot machines are they running?’

 

‘None. The pyramids at Giza are massive stone monuments built thousands of years ago.’

 

‘No shit.’

 

Mick breathed a sigh of relief.

 

‘Hell yeah! Now you mention it, it’s all coming back to me.’

 

‘That’s that place on some beach with that crap statue of a big dog with a hat on - and those pyramids are in the background. Yeah. I remember - it was in a comic Captain America versus the Pharaohs. But it’s all a bit hazy.’

 

Hazy or not, Mac3 was unstoppable.

 

‘See when I was in Glasgow looking for the Yorkshire Dales, some guy was talking about the Faeroes - and I picked up they were some shit-awful islands just off the coast of Glasgow. But he never mentioned pyramids…’

 

‘Well,’ said Mick, in a dazed but helpful way, ‘it’s difficult to remember what you read in a comic when you were a kid.’

 

‘No, I read it on the Lear coming over. Finished it just before we landed. You sure that big dog statue isn’t in Scotland…?’

 

Mick looked across at Euro-Wilf. It was a pathetic cry for help. He’d done his best. Now it was time for someone else to step into the breach.

 

He had the distinct feeling they were experiencing a new and extremely virulent form of the tomb-raiders’ curse.