Robert’s gaze drifted over the clouds moving through the darkening sky. Lightning flashed, and the temple blazed like the white throat of some primeval serpent. “Let’s get out of here. This is a creepy place to start with, but if there’s a storm coming, I really don’t want to be here.”
“I’m with you.”
Our boots splashed in puddles as we climbed back up and stood atop the wall.
Strangely, LaSalle stayed beside the sarcophagus. “I’ll be just a little longer. Go on without me. I’ll meet you at the tables.”
Roberto said, “Okay, see you there.”
“No,” I said. “We’re not leaving you alone out here. There’s a murderer on the loose.”
“Hal,” she said in a soft voice. “I’m pretty good at determining cause of death. I work with homicide investigators all the time. I was in Denver working with the FBI just a month ago. I’m sure Samael died from natural causes. I’ll be fine, and I’ll be right behind you.”
“Okay, but if you’re not there in fifteen minutes, I’m coming back.”
“I appreciate your concern. Thanks.”
Hesitantly, I walked after Roberto.
When we’d trotted up the stairs and reached the rim of the temple, I turned around. I couldn’t see her from up here, but I had a bad feeling about leaving her alone.
“Want us to save you a seat at the table?” I called.
“Sure. Thanks.”
Water gurgled near the sarcophagus, as though she were wading through the pool examining the painting in the flashes of lightning.
Switching on my flashlight, I led the way to dinner. The beam bounced in time with my steps.
Roberto said, “She’s braver than I am.”
“Me, too. By a long shot.”
I took the most direct route back, moving in silence through the lifeless, wind-lashed ruins.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
By the time we arrived at the dinner line, most of the students had finished eating. There was no laughter tonight. No playful horsing around. As I watched the last of the archaeologists meandering out toward the parking lot to leave for four days, I noticed that my headache had vanished. My brain was working better, thank God, because I had a lot of thinking to do.
Roberto picked up two plates and forks in the cook tent. He handed me one set.
“We should fix a plate for LaSalle, too.” I picked up another plate.
Three Egyptian laborers were still in the tent. They looked eager to have us finish so they could start cleaning up. They’d already begun washing dishes. Soft clattering filled the air.
We filled all three plates with spicy goat kebabs on skewers, rice, and salad. At the end of the line, sat a clay pot of tahini, but by the time I got there, it was almost gone. I tilted the pot and scraped the dregs over my rice. Roberto grabbed three bottles of water and we headed for the abandoned tables.
It was the first time I’d seen the tables empty. Sitting in front of the only lantern, our faces had a pallid gleam.
Roberto glanced at the tent where laborers spoke in soft voices, and whispered, “We could be murdered in our sleep tonight. You get that, right?”
“I get it. But I don’t think they’d dare kill again so soon after Samael.”
“Maybe not, but I have to admit it freaked me a bit when I saw Moriarity pull out of the parking lot.”
“Did he?” I asked, alarmed. “You sure?”
“Oh, yeah. He’s gone. It’s just you, me, and my Ruger pistol.” He patted the gun stuffed into his pants beneath his shirt.
“And LaSalle.”
“Yeah. Do you really think Samael was murdered?” He took a long drink of his water and exhaled hard. Sweat-soaked brown hair stuck to his cheeks and forehead.
Leaning across the table, I replied, “The guy who tackled me last night asked me . . .”
Two dishwashers came out and started wiping off the empty tables with wet cloths. Before they disappeared, they gave us curious glances. Dishes clanged and clinked again as they apparently returned to washing.
“Asked you what?” Roberto took a bite and chewed.
“He asked me about the dagger, then said, ’Is that what the old man was trying to dig up?’ Now I’m wondering—”
“Tell me that is not where you hid it?”
I just looked at him.
“Oh, my God.” Roberto squeezed his eyes closed for a second. “Okay, let’s be calm about this. The first thing we have to do is go see if it’s still there.”
“Agreed.” I chewed a kebab and swallowed. “Roberto, do you think he killed Samael before he attacked me or after?”
“He used the past tense, didn’t he? ‘. . . was trying to dig up?’ Must have been after. Do you think Samael told him you had the dagger?”
Using my fork, I cut a chunk of goat in half and ate it while I thought about that. “Maybe.”
Inside the cook tent, the Arab dishwashers must have put away the last of the plates and forks. The metallic clashings died down. One of the men walked out and gave us a questioning look.
“About done?” he called.
Roberto called back, “You can go home. We’ll wash our own dishes.”
“Okay.” The man lifted a hand.
A short time later, the men walked out of the tent and headed for the parking lot.
We ate in silence for a while, watching the lightning flash in the distance. It occurred to me that after my assailant had run away last night, he might have gone back to the pit to dig for the dagger. When he’d finished, he’d shoved Samael’s body into the pit and left. With the dagger? Or was it still where I’d buried it?
On the eastern horizon, the first sliver of the moon edged above the delta. If the clouds didn’t completely obscure the sky, in a few hours I’d be able to go search the pit for the dagger without having to use my flashlight.
While I waited, my body vibrated with adrenaline. I tried not to swallow my food whole, but it was a challenge. The only thing I wanted to do was get to that pit and determine if the dagger was still there.
Roberto finished his food, and set his fork aside. “Hal, listen, I want you to play an imagination game with me. You’re really good at that.”
“Sure.”
“Okay, I’m Samael, you’re the murderer. I—Samael—have been worried about the dagger. After all, I found it in Charmion’s hand, and I was Charmion in a former life. Maybe I considered it mine, but it was taken away from me by Hassan Mallawi. After searching your tent, I’ve been trying to figure out where you’d hide the dagger, and I’ve concluded you must have hidden it in the sterile pit. So I’m going to go search—”
“Why didn’t you conclude I had it strapped to my body?”
“Because I’ve gotten to know you a little. I’m pretty sure you’re smarter than that.”
“Okay. Next?”
“I grab my trowel and leave my tent at around eleven last night. I’m blind, but I don’t want to be seen, so . . . what do I do?”
Pausing, I considered. “The moon is heading toward the western horizon. You walk in the shadow cast by the fortress wall. That gives you the cover of darkness, but you can also keep one hand against the bricks to steady yourself.”
“And I know the pit is right at the end of the wall. All I have to do is follow the wall, and I’ll be there. But I have to walk carefully. I don’t want to fall, so it takes me about thirty minutes, right?”
I thought about it. “Right.”
“When I get past the end of the wall, I stop and listen to make sure I’m alone, then I feel my way forward with my feet until I find the pit. What are you doing?”
Shifting points of view, I tried to get into the murderer’s mind. It took a few seconds before I could feel the coolness of night around me, smell the bricks radiating the heat of the day. The pr
edator inside me suddenly woke. “I see you. And I’m close, maybe just on the other side of the fortress wall.”
“Why are you out there at midnight? Were you restless? You couldn’t sleep? Why couldn’t you sleep?”
“I’ve been watching the pit, waiting . . .”
From out of the moonlight, I saw a figure walking toward me, coming from the temple. Like a mountain lion, her muscular body flowed with each step. Elegant. Silent. I stiffened involuntarily when it occurred to me that she was walking exactly the same path Cleo had last night.
Roberto whirled around. “It’s LaSalle.”
“Sorry. I—I’m just jumpy.”
“I certainly hope so.”
Digging into my dinner, I shoveled a mixture of deliciously tender goat meat and rice into my mouth. The tahini gave each bite a light sesame flavor that I found comforting.
As she passed, LaSalle waved. “Good night. Get some rest, you two.”
“Aren’t you having dinner?” I called. “We fixed a plate for you.”
“Thanks, but not hungry. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Okay . . .” My voice trailed away. I’d been hoping to question her more about what had happened today while Roberto and I slept, but I guess that would have to wait.
When she was out of earshot, Roberto said, “Back to the imagination game. You were watching the pit, waiting for us? Why would you assume we’d be out there at midnight? That doesn’t make any sense.”
I blinked. Picking up my bottle, I took a long drink of water. It was just barely cool. “I’ve changed my mind.”
“About what?”
“About why I’m out there. I’m out there at midnight because it’s my job.”
Leaning back on the bench, Roberto stared at me. He must be thinking about my description of the demon I’d seen the day Cleo died. The Egyptian Army uniform.
Bracing both elbows, Roberto glanced around the darkness, then leaned across the table to whisper, “Listen, Hal, if that’s true, we’ve got to—”
“What do you do when you see me?” I had to continue the game to the end. It was imperative now.
Roberto swallowed hard. “I don’t see you. But I hear you coming. I hear your feet on the sand.”
“Why don’t you run?”
Roberto lifted his gaze to my face. His breathing has gone shallow. “I know you.”
“Did you recognize the sound of my steps?”
“No, you spoke to me. I recognized your voice.”
“Okay. You have less than five minutes to live. What do you hear?”
With a light shake of his head, Roberto said, “You ask me if I found the dagger.”
“Why do I think you’re looking for the dagger?”
In the dim gleam of the solar lantern, I saw Roberto’s shoulder muscles contract beneath his shirt. “Because I told you I’d get it. I guaranteed it. Why else would I out be out here at midnight?”
“Is that why you’ve been making such good friends with the kids from Colorado?” It hurt to say the words, but they sounded true.
“Oh, fuck. Of course.”
Our gazes locked. “So you and I are in this together. Why do I kill my partner?”
“Maybe we’re not that good of pals. Maybe the only reason we’re in this together is that we both want to find the grave of Cleopatra. What do I say to piss you off enough that you’ll kill me?”
Trying to think like the murderer, I said, “You tell me you found the dagger, but you’re not giving it to me.”
“Yeah, but you’re bigger and younger than me. Just take it from me. You don’t have to kill me.”
“True. But now that I have it, I don’t want anyone to know I’ve got it. No one. Which means you have to go.”
Thoughts danced behind Roberto’s eyes. He took another swig of water. “Doesn’t work. In five minutes you’re going attack Hal Stevens, and ask him where the dagger is. Which means I didn’t give you the dagger.”
“Oh. Right.” My imagination was floating through possibilities. “Maybe when you heard me coming, you were scared. You hid it.”
“Or maybe I left my tent at ten o’clock, an hour earlier.”
“Which means you found the dagger long before you saw me just before midnight. What were you doing with the dagger for an hour?”
“You tell me, bro.”
In my mind, I could feel Samael’s shaky old body, and feel him turn around, start to walk away in the direction of the entwined skeletons.
A surge of fear went through me. “You walked over to place the dagger in the hand of the large skeleton.”
“Why?”
Rubbing my stinging face, I replied, “God, I wish I knew. Samael said—”
“Let’s go find out.” Tipping his bottle up, Roberto drained it dry and set it on the table with a clunk. “Even if we don’t find the dagger, we can improvise, use something else.”
Chugging my last swallow of water, I stood up, leaving the dirty dishes, and LaSalle’s full plate, behind.
Roberto led the way toward the sterile pit where I was sure an old man had been murdered.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
As we crossed the field camp, the full moon wavered through dark clouds—there one instant, gone the next. On the few occasions when it broke through, the watery gleam of moonlight painted the ruins, then it vanished, and rain sprinkled around us.
The fragrances of damp bricks and earth rose.
When we arrived at the fortress wall, I said, “Let’s walk on the side Samael would have walked.”
Roberto looked up at the sky. “Right. By midnight, the moon would have been on the other side of the wall.”
I took the lead, trying to imagine how the blind old man would have made his way along the wall, feeling with his left hand while he used his walking stick to steady his steps.
“Roberto? Did you see his walking stick at the pit?”
“No, but the police probably collected a lot of evidence before we got there.”
“Then why didn’t they pick up his trowel?”
Behind me, I heard Roberto stop walking. He hesitated. “I don’t know. That doesn’t make any sense. Maybe in Egypt, if they have no evidence that a crime was committed, they don’t touch stuff. Or maybe the police used it to dig up something and left it there.”
Continuing along the fortress, I veered wide around fallen stones and toppled sections of walls. Each time lightning flashed in the distance, the ancient city came to life in front of my eyes. I could see outlines, actinic afterimages, of the soldiers who had once stood here. Helmeted and cloaked in armor, lances held at the ready. If I strained hard enough, I could hear horses whinnying and pawing in the nearby stables, and smell the scent of date beer in the air. Somewhere, bronze mugs clanked together, and men laughed.
At the end of the fortress wall, I halted and waited for the next lightning flash. The sterile three-by-three-meter unit appeared and disappeared. Stepping forward, I peered down the opposite side of the wall. In the next flare of brilliance, I searched for anyone or anything that might want to kill us. Nothing human moved. Just misty rain falling. We were apparently the only people out walking the site in the storm. Where were the guards? Huddling in one of the ruins until the rain stopped?
I trotted forward and crouched by the pit. Roberto came forward slowly. He had one hand behind him, on the pistol tucked into the back of his pants. When he knelt beside me, he didn’t look at me. He was scanning the lightning-strobed world. His face blazed an instant before the bang of thunder crashed above us.
“That was close.”
Roberto nodded. “Yeah, let’s hurry. Grab the trowel and start digging.”
Jumping down into the pit, I grasped the well-worn trowel, clearly an artifact of hundreds of digs, and felt its weight in my hand. Then I moved to the
northwest corner and started digging. The sand was wet and heavy. I dug with my heart in my throat. It has to be here.
After two minutes, I tossed the trowel aside and slumped down in the pit on the verge of tears. The back dirt pile loomed beside me, a full meter high. It definitely looked like a body had toppled into it. A big swath of dirt had been knocked out. “It’s not here.”
“Figured that.” Roberto rose to his feet. “Okay, let’s head to the skeletons.”
He extended a hand to me. I clasped it, letting him pull me to my feet. As I climbed out of the unit, I felt like a fool. Why hadn’t I chosen a better place to hide it? I could have secreted it in a gap in the temple bricks, or buried it beneath a toppled wall. But I was afraid of being seen. Burying it in a pit that everyone knew contained nothing made sense at the time.
Roberto headed toward the entwined skeletons. Marching forward like a resolute infantryman, he had his head down, driving against the rain, planting each step in anticipation of the next.
Soaked to the bone, it occurred to me that we had been young once, just over a month ago. Before Cleo’s murder. But I didn’t think that was true anymore. My soul felt as hollow and as old as these dark ruins. Though, in truth, the ruins were not so much dark as the sky above was so ruptured with brilliance. For the moment, I tried not to think about how heartbroken Cleo would be that I’d lost the dagger. Besides, if she were out here, walking unseen beside me, she already knew. And I prayed she was out here.
Two paces ahead of me, Roberto sidestepped something, and pointed to the ground. “Big puddle, Hal.”
“Thanks.”
Making a wide detour around it, we continued to the site of the entwined skeletons, and stood looking down at the black tarp the archaeologists had pulled over the grave to protect it while they were gone.
“Let’s get this off,” Roberto said.
As we pulled the tarp back, rain fell upon the dead. The rain-drenched stela flashed when the sky exploded with light, and I swear the figure of Cleopatra seemed to turn her stone face and look directly at me . . . asking me to do something.
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