The color drained from Roberto’s face. Subtly, he reached around to check for the pistol tucked into his pants beneath his shirt, then he scanned the crowd running toward us. His breathing had gone shallow. I could see his chest rising and falling with swift breaths.
And it occurred to me that carrying a firearm without the approval of the Egyptian authorities was a crime punishable by imprisonment.
“Hal, try to calm down. We don’t know Samael was attacked. There’s no sign of a struggle. No sign that he tried to run. Maybe—”
“How can you say that? Why would his body be lying sprawled in this pit? That doesn’t make any sense. Someone killed him and dumped him in there! They’re sending me a signal.”
LaSalle said, “He may have just come out to look at the excavation, suffered a heart attack, and fallen backward into the pit. That’s what it looks like.”
Officer Sattin leisurely walked around to stand between Dr. Hussein and me. He stared at me with narrowed eyes and a half-smile on his dark face. Scary. “Both you and Mr. Dally think a murder was committed. Why? What kind of a signal do you think someone was sending you?”
Turn over the dagger, or you’re next. . . .
The same hollow ache I’d felt at Cleo’s death was back and beginning to fill me up inside. “I don’t know. I’m sorry, I’m not thinking straight.”
“That’s true,” LaSalle said. “Hal is suffering from a mild concussion he received during his attack last night. He’s been in bed most of the day, Officer Sattin.”
“That may be, Doctor,” Sattin said in a friendly voice, “but Mr. Stevens thinks Samael Saqqara was murdered to send him a message. So I must ask Mr. Stevens to explain himself.”
I hated talking to the police. It always got me in hot water. “I just meant . . . He was my friend. And my friends keep dying, and I don’t know why.” Tears blurred my eyes.
Moriarity’s expression changed, going from shock to grief to downright fear, as though he’d just made a connection that I had not. “Officer, my niece, Hal’s girlfriend, was murdered about a month ago in Colorado. That’s what he means. I brought him to Egypt in the hope of easing that trauma. He’s been having problems coping with his grief.”
“I see.”
Sattin gestured to Fatimid who scribbled in his notebook. I had the feeling Fatimid was extremely competent, the ideal second-in-command who followed orders without fail, whether it be cleaning the departmental urinal or herding people into cattle cars. No muss. No fuss. He’d get the job done.
As though utterly devastated, Moriarity crouched beside Samael and gripped the old man’s stiff hand. He choked back sobs.
LaSalle walked around the pit and knelt in front of him. “Jim, don’t. He wouldn’t want you to—”
“I should have never asked him to come here. He didn’t want to. And I knew he was blind, and there was a very small chance he might be able to relocate the old excavation.”
“He loved being here, Jim. He told me so. He was an archaeologist. This is where he spent the happiest days of his life.”
Jerking up his chin, he stared at Hussein through blurry eyes. “What’s your estimate of time of death, Dr. Hussein?”
“Sometime between eight last night and midnight.”
I felt the blood drain from my head. About the same time the entwined skeletons had been vandalized. And the same time I was attacked.
Those were also the four hours that I could not account for. The four hours when I was in the ancient corridor covered with cartouches. Where Cleo came to me. Was it possible that I’d suffered some kind of a blackout? That I’d vandalized the entwined skeletons and then . . .
I couldn’t even think the words.
Officer Sattin tucked his notebook in his chest pocket and looked up at the darkening sky. “It’s getting late. We’ll return tomorrow. For now, we are assuming this is not a murder. Do you have plans to leave the site?”
Moriarity nodded. “Everyone is leaving tonight, including me. My wife is ill. She has a doctor’s appointment in Alexandria tomorrow afternoon, but we’ll be staying at the Hilton, if you need us. I’ll be taking Hal and Robert with me. I want to make sure they’re sa—”
“We’re not going,” I said.
“I’m not leaving you here alone, boys. You have no idea what’s—”
“We’ll be with LaSalle. Sarah said she never leaves on the four-days.”
“True.” LaSalle propped her hands on her hips. “I’ll watch out for them, Jim. Take as long as you need in Alexandria.”
“All right. I guess.” Moriarity turned to Sattin. “Or would you rather that I cancel the four-day and my wife’s appointment?”
Sattin mildly shook his head. “Not necessary. But if anyone does not return to work after the four-day, I need to know about it.”
“Of course.”
Dr. Hussein turned to Fatimid and asked something in Egyptian, then they gently wrapped Samael in the sheet and carried the body to the police van where they stowed it in the rear and closed the doors.
As Fatimid got in behind the wheel, he said, “Masa’ el khayr,” which meant “good evening.”
“Inshallah,” LaSalle called back. “God willing.”
Sattin got into the passenger side of the van without a word and slammed the door.
Weak-kneed, I balled my fists and watched them drive away, but my eyes kept straying to the sterile pit where I’d buried the dagger. Was that Samael’s trowel? Had he been hunting for the dagger? Was it still there? I had to find it, to move to it, before the police returned to do a closer examination of the murder scene—and I was sure it was a murder scene.
“Come on,” Moriarity said. “Let’s get dinner. It’s been a rough day.”
CHAPTER FORTY
The sounds of plates and forks clattering carried on the light breeze blowing across the site. When I turned to study the students eating dinner, I found almost every eye glued to us. The few that weren’t on us were watching the van disappearing in a cloud of dust.
LaSalle stood in silence with us for what seemed an eternity before she said, “If you’re feeling well enough, I’d like to show you both something before we head to dinner. It won’t take long.”
Though I felt like my insides had been hollowed out, I said, “Sure. I don’t think I could stomach any food right now anyway.”
Roberto said, “Where are we going?”
“The temple.” LaSalle started walked westward.
“Did you find something today?”
“We did. Something very interesting.”
“What is it?”
LaSalle’s voice turned a little dark. “You need to see it with your own eyes.”
My legs felt heavy as we marched toward the purple glow on the horizon. The sun had just sunk into the underworld, and the night birds had started calling across the waving stems of papyrus. For some reason, the air smelled more salty and fragrant at nightfall. I drew it into my lungs, holding it like a healing tonic, before slowly exhaling.
To my left, Roberto trudged through the sand with his head down. I could see his teeth grinding beneath his sparse beard, thinking hard, no doubt. As I was.
When he caught me staring at him, he whispered, “We’re in trouble.”
I nodded.
I just didn’t know what to do about it. Run? We could run. We could also hide, maybe return to Samael’s cave in the desert. Or we could stay and face the danger. But I knew the safe choice. If we were smart, we’d grab the dagger and head for the Port Said airport.
Far back in my mind, I could see Cleo staring at me with forgiveness in her eyes.
When we reached the temple, LaSalle said, “Be careful. The water table was up today. The steps are weeping.”
She took the stairs down one cautious step at a time.
Roberto followe
d next, and I finally stepped onto the top stair. The different sizes of bricks that funneled me downward into the darkness shimmered with moisture. I could feel it tonight. My body turned light as a feather, as though my flesh was gone, and only my soul journeyed downward toward the land of the dead. At the fourth and fifth hours, the dim realm of the cemetery god Seker seemed to come alive. I heard faint inhuman laughter echo around the walls. My gaze shot upward, but I was having trouble locating the source of the voices. They seemed to come from the gaping mouths of the carved heads that thrust from each layer of stone. The demons that guarded the hours.
Stop this. You’re terrifying yourself.
Taking my imagination in firm hands, I realized the cackling must originate from drops of water falling onto ledges below. Actually, when I thought about it, the sound was more like a rattle than a cackle.
By the time I reached the approach to the Kingdom of Osiris, the walls breathed. Though I knew it was the reverberations of Roberto’s and LaSalle’s breathing, it still unnerved me, just as it must have the ancient priests who’d entered this temple two thousand years ago.
High above, the sky shaded to slate blue as night deepened, turning the pools of water scattered across the floor into leaden eyes.
Was she here? Was Cleo waiting for me? I glanced around, but saw nothing.
LaSalle must have seen me reach into my pocket for my flashlight because she called, “No flashlight, please, Hal. I want you to see it in natural light first.”
“Okay.” However, I clutched my flashlight in my hand, my finger on the button, ready to turn it on in an instant.
Roberto called, “Wow. This is amazing, Hal.”
As I got closer, I could see Roberto inside the tunnel. LaSalle remained outside, standing straight and tall, as though she were an ancient priestess guarding the gate to the Kingdom of Osiris. Her blonde hair and ivory-colored shirt glowed in the faint light of evening.
Roberto scuttled backward, out of the tunnel, and stared at me with wide eyes. “Your turn, buddy. Be careful, the stairs are slick in there.”
Gripping my flashlight as though it were a magical sword that could slay demons, I hesitated at the mouth of the tunnel to glance at LaSalle. “What’s down there?”
Her face shone like polished marble when she turned to look into my eyes. “Go see for yourself. But no flashlight. You’ll ruin it.”
I suddenly realized that I was not a courageous person. My cowardly streak was growing wider by the instant. Girding myself, I stepped into the tunnel and began climbing down the wet stairs. The deeper I went, the more familiar it became. Except now, in the twilight gleam, the plastered walls glowed as though backlit. Reaching out, I touched them and felt crushed shells beneath my fingertips.
“My God.” My whisper rang through the tunnel as though I’d shouted. “The entire passageway was painted with crushed pearls.”
“Correct,” LaSalle called down. “This is no ordinary tunnel to the Kingdom of Osiris. This is a royal gateway to the afterlife.”
“Can I turn on my flashlight now?”
“Yes, and I want you to walk all the way to the bottom of the tunnel.”
Switching on my flashlight, the beam seemed to set the walls aflame. The pearlescent shimmer almost blinded me. With one hand braced against the wall, I continued climbing downward until I hit the bottom stair. There, to my right, was the corridor I had walked last night. It had been excavated all the way back to the dead end. The cartouches stamped into the walls cast shadows in my flashlight beam.
“It’s here,” I whispered in awe. “I didn’t dream it. It’s really here!”
At that revelation, fear charged my muscles. If the corridor was here, did that mean I had not imagined Cleo? Had she truly come to warn me? If I’d stayed and spoken with her, would she have told me they planned to kill Samael? Would she have revealed the identities of my enemies? Of her enemies? Why hadn’t I trusted her?
Shining my beam around, I searched for her, hoping to see her, but I saw only the empty corridor and shimmering tunnel.
“Come out now, Hal. Let’s talk,” LaSalle called.
Her voice boomed around me, magnified by the tunnel and corridor. Turning, I switched off my flashlight and climbed the luminescent passageway lit only by the first stars born in the sky.
Euphoria filled me. My feet did not seem to be touching the steps, but striking the air just above them.
When I emerged and stood between LaSalle and Roberto, my best friend said, “Is that what you saw in your dream?”
All I could do was nod.
“I knew it.”
LaSalle nodded, too, but I wasn’t sure she was aware of it. It was one of those faint nods a person gives when they are deep in thought, not really here in this world. “Did you glimpse anything beyond the dead end? What lies on the other side, Hal?”
“I didn’t see anything.”
“Even in your imagination? When you first saw the dead end, did your mind flicker with images? Samael’s used to.”
The whole experience had possessed a surreal quality, so I wasn’t sure I should tell her, but I said, “Gold. The glitter of gold in lamplight. But I thought I was just being influenced by Howard Carter’s first glimpse of Tut’s tomb.”
“Could be. We won’t know until we get behind that wall.”
Roberto propped his hands on his hips. “If everyone is leaving for four days off, you won’t have this excavated for a while.”
“I’m not leaving. I plan to break through that wall tomorrow morning. Want to help?”
“Yes,” Roberto and I said at the same time.
After a short hesitation, I asked, “LaSalle, the cartouches stamped into the walls, do you have any idea whose name they represent? There are hundreds of them down there.”
“No. But the name must have been very important to whoever built that corridor.”
Dusty starlight filled the temple, reflecting from the standing walls and shining upon the pools of water on the floor. The laughter started again, barely there, just a distant cackling, and I noticed the tiny trickles of water that ran down the walls like silver threads.
LaSalle followed my gaze. “Yes, that’s a curious feature of this temple. Though it sits at the highest point of the site, about seven feet above sea level, the temple walls soak up water from the shallow water table and sometimes, always at night, streams penetrate through the cracks and flow down the walls. It’s a beautiful sight, especially at moonrise.”
Aching loneliness swelled my chest, but I had the feeling it did not belong to me. It belonged to someone else, someone old and tired, someone who had lost all hope.
As though reading my thoughts, LaSalle frowned. In a low voice, she said, “I’ve been wondering . . . Do you feel Samael’s soul out there tonight? Does he call to you?”
Roberto shook his head. “Not to me.”
Stars reflected in the largest pool of water three paces in front of me. Like jewels, they twinkled and flashed.
“No,” I replied.
She jerked a nod as though it had been a silly question and she knew it. “I was just wondering. I thought, if he was going to speak to anyone, it would be you. I wish I knew what happened to him last night.”
I stood there like a lump on a log, mute.
“Well,” she said at last. “You two must be starving. You missed lunch today.”
As she led the way around the puddles, she passed the flaking hieroglyphics on the northern wall.
I said, “LaSalle, what’s this panel talking about? So much of the plaster has flaked off I can’t get the gist of the story.”
Smiling, she said, “Yes, it is hard to figure out. On the far left, do you see the image of Set? He’s the blue guy. Then on the opposite side, see the cow’s horns embracing the solar disk? It seems to be floating, attached to nothing.”
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“Yes.”
“Two thousand years ago, you would have seen a beautiful woman in a sheath dress, probably carrying her son Horus in her arms. The disk and horns would have been perched upon her head.”
“Then the story is of Isis, Set, and the murder of Osiris?”
“Actually, I think that’s Cleopatra in the guise of Isis. Can you see the faint images of the cobras next to her?”
I shook my head. “Not in this light.”
“Tomorrow, you’ll see them. This particular Isis Temple—”
“This is a Temple to Isis?”
“Yes, I assumed that Jim had explained that.”
“No, he didn’t.”
. . . adjacent to a temple to Isis.
LaSalle gave a nod to the crumbling wall that blocked the view of the sarcophagus. “Have you seen the partial painting of the woman on the sarcophagus?”
“Yes, but we weren’t sure what it meant.”
LaSalle waved an arm for us to follow her. “Come on, let me show you.”
She carefully scaled the giant chunk of fallen wall and climbed down the other side. I heard her feet splash in water when she landed. Placing my boots with care, I climbed next, followed by Roberto.
When we stood beside her, looking at the beautiful face painted on the stone, LaSalle said, “I can’t wait to get this fully excavated and see what’s inside. Given her purple dress and elaborately braided hair, I am fairly sure she is a member of the Ptolemaic dynasty.” She reached out to hold her finger over the fangs of the cobra on the woman’s headdress. “If the painting were intact and showed three cobras, we’d know this is Cleopatra. Two cobras would tell us this is her half sister, Arsinoe IV.”
Dust suddenly gusted across the top of the temple as the wind picked up. All around me, the standing walls sighed and whimpered.
“Are you saying this sarcophagus might belong to Cleopatra’s sister?”
LaSalle gestured at the painting glowing in the starlight. “I think it’s possible that her body was brought home from Turkey, where Antonius killed her, to be buried in Egypt. But, regardless, this particular Temple to Isis seems to be dedicated to Ptolemaic women.”
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