Beloved Gomorrah

by Justine Saracen

  Joanna was safe; his worst fears of her being killed or crippled were allayed. But he hated the downtime while she recovered. He’d come to Egypt to work, goddamn it. His own project was well on track. The fiberglass skeleton and its platform had arrived and needed only to be cemented. The marble stele was set up and ready for drilling, which would take at most two days. They’d planned for him to finish the whole composition within three or four days and spend the next week assisting Joanna. Now at least a few of those days would simply be a hiatus. Damn. He’d just be spinning his wheels. Well, at least nothing was holding him back from returning to the site where they’d found the tablets.

  It had been four days since the accident, so for all he knew, the Egyptians had already investigated the spot and collected the artifacts. If so, fine. But if not, he had as much right as anyone to explore the shipwreck, or whatever it was. He would surrender anything he found; that went without saying. But he’d photograph it first.

  The barge pulled past him and he stepped into one of the several inflatable dinghies issued to the project divers and deposited his vest and tank. In just a few moments he was at the exhibit site, carefully marked with a wide ring of bright-red buoys. He tied up to one of them, rigged a rope so he’d be able to drag himself back into the dinghy when he surfaced, then pulled on vest, tank, and regulator. Checking the pressure gauge to make sure he had the full two hundred bars, he dropped backward over the side.

  In the crystal-clear water, he had plenty of late afternoon sunlight to guide him to Site 13. Schools of brightly colored fish passed him, but he ignored them. He had to hurry because the twelve-liter tank didn’t allow much time for deep-water exploration.

  He dove into the drop-off behind the site. Visibility was good until about thirty meters, when he had to click on his torch. He checked his wrist computer as it ticked off the meters of his descent. Finally, at thirty-eight meters, just as he’d remembered, he found the debris trail.

  He examined the site more carefully now, noting the layout of the objects. To his dismay, he saw many more broken fragments than he remembered. He began to have second thoughts, recalling that archeologists generally marked out a discovery site with a grid work indicating placement of the objects before removing them. Well, he would disturb things as little as possible, but he was not going back empty-handed.

  Finally something metallic caught the light of his torch and sparkled back at him. He brushed away sand to find a plate with the same markings as the cup he’d found four days earlier. Fantastic. Was there even more gold? The Egyptians would love that. He could already imagine the exhibit. He swept the light beam back and forth for several minutes but found no other metal. Other clay fragments were scattered about, however, and brushing away more sand, he uncovered the corner of what seemed to be a chest. It was partially shattered, so he could already see that it contained more clay tablets. Scores of them. He was loath to break open the chest, so he ran his fingers again through the sand, searching for others that had fallen out. He hit upon something, half of a tablet, then close by, a matching piece. Cuneiform again. He slid them carefully into his net bag alongside the plate.

  He checked his wrist computer and saw he’d reached his time limit at that depth. He ascended gradually, unconcerned. Soon he was back at the plateau and swam leisurely across the city, keeping at the twelve-meter depth, making it a partial decompression stop.

  To his surprise, another diver was still working in the installation, measuring something on the slope with a reel and tape. He couldn’t be sure, but it looked like George Guillaume. He recalled that George had especially long, translucent fins. Expensive ones that Charlie had immediately coveted. This was not a welcome encounter, since he couldn’t ascend or descend, and he couldn’t conceal what he was carrying. He tried to back away and wait out his time at the other end of the plain, but the diver saw him and waved a greeting.

  Shit. Charlie gave a small wave back and hovered, turning his back. But the other diver was next to him now, and it was George after all, his expensive fins keeping them exactly level. He mimed that he was measuring, though the measuring reel in his hand made it obvious.

  Then George caught sight of the net bag and its contents. He poked at it and signaled an ambiguous “fine.” Charlie shrugged with equal ambiguity and tapped his wrist computer to indicate he had a decompression stop. George nodded but remained stuck to him like a remora.

  When the time had elapsed, Charlie surfaced, and George emerged close by. “Hey, where’d you get the loot?” George asked.

  “It’s not loot. It’s part of our sculpture.” Charlie bluffed. “I was checking to see how visible it was at fifteen meters. It’s got to look good or it’s not worth using.”

  “Uh, right,” George said, and it was impossible to tell whether he agreed or was skeptical. “You shouldn’t be diving alone.”

  “I have to. Joanna’s injured.” Charlie paddled toward the dinghy. “What’s your excuse?”

  “On short notice, I couldn’t get anyone to come with me. The committee just took back my display site, and I was measuring what they gave me in exchange. They really fucked me over because it’s useless.”

  “Hey, I’m sorry to hear that, but maybe we can talk about it later. I’ve got to get back to Joanna.”

  “Yeah, sure,” George said, and paddled back toward his inflatable as Charlie prepared to haul himself back into his own. Damn, he thought, unable to shake the feeling that George was going to bring trouble.

  *

  Charlie wiggled together the two halves of the clay tablet, anchoring both pieces with blocks of wood to keep them in place. The line of text along the crack was partially obscured, but the Egyptian archeologists would have a fit if he used glue on them, so this was the best he could manage.

  Shining the brightest lights in his room on the artifacts, he took a series of close-ups, from top to bottom and then from side to side.

  The new tablet seemed to be of the same material, size, and coloring as the two they had already found. Were they a set? Well, he’d soon find out. Maybe they’d salvaged nothing but cargo lists or hymns of praise to the gods of the sea. Whatever they turned out to be, that was fine with him. They’d be worth at least an article in the museum magazine, and the chairman of their department would like that. It would add a layer of value to their month of absence from the museum.

  He had invested in a high-quality digital camera, and now he was glad of it. With the new software in his laptop computer, he could send the pictures back immediately to London. Unfortunately, the dial-up from the hostel was tricky and tedious, and he had to do it from the hostel office. Well, with a little luck, he’d manage it again this time.

  He finished photographing and downloaded the photos into his computer. Nervously, he glanced at his watch. Almost six o’clock. The office was still open and, if he hurried, he could attempt to send the files before it closed. Grabbing the USB cable from his suitcase, he hurried down the stairs to the office below.

  “Hanan, good evening.” Charlie tried to charm, knowing the hostel owner was no fool and would guess right away he’d want something. “Ten minutes, I swear. I need only ten minutes.” He held up ten fingers, as if to underline his pledge.

  She squinted for a moment, apparently judging the degree of inconvenience and deciding it was not great. “Of course, Mr. Hernie. I will clean up the desk for a few minutes. But please don’t take long time. I must to cook dinner for my family.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said, already plugging in his laptop and attaching it to the telephone line. The random beeps and tones of the dial-up seemed to take ages, but then, praise Zeus, the connection held.

  He addressed the message to Judy Zytowski, in Ancient Semitic Collections, and typed a brief note.

  Latest tablet. Please translate as soon as possible. Nigel has others. Longer explanatory fax to follow.

  When all the photos were loaded in, which took another age, he hit Send.

  C
hapter Five

  Joanna tilted sideways, supporting her weight on her cane and trying to ignore the aches in both arm and leg. In front of her at the administration desk, Kaia Kapulani paid her hospital bill. “You know, I have perfectly good insurance, and once I file the claim, I can reimburse you for every pound.”

  “Yes, I know, dear,” Kaia said over her shoulder. “We’ll take care of all that in good time. That’s the last thing you need to worry about now.” She counted out the proper amount in Egyptian pounds and signed the receipt.

  “Can you manage all right?” she asked, turning her attention to Joanna. “Why don’t you take my arm?”

  “No. My left arm is still sore, and I have to hold the cane with my right hand. I’ll be okay this way. Just walk slowly.” Joanna hobbled toward the glass doors of the hospital, weakened by five days in bed and by a leg still massively bruised, even if the semicircle of deep slashes had been stitched closed. Still, it was invigorating to step out into the bright, warm air outside.

  She had showered for the first time that morning, supporting herself awkwardly against the shower wall. She’d held a plastic bag to the bandage on the side of her face with one hand and shampooed her hair with the other. Her left arm wasn’t as badly mauled as her leg but was still swollen and hurt when she used it. Thank God the sharks that had slashed her had been small and their bites not yet strong enough to break bones. Terrified of slipping on the tile floor, she had inched her way along the wall in tiny skips until she could reach her cane.

  Drying with the towel while she leaned on the cane had gone fairly well, but dressing had been a battle. She had not realized it took so much musculature to put on a brassiere and panties, let alone cargo pants, and finally had to appeal to the nurse for assistance. By the time Kaia arrived at the door of her room, Joanna was exhausted. It did not bode well for not being a burden on the Kapulani yacht.

  “The car’s over here.” Kaia pointed toward a small cream-colored Mercedes parked outside the hospital entrance.

  “Very nice.”

  “It’s just a rental my husband uses to get to and from the airport. We came here for a few weeks for a rest and for the fishing, but Bernie never really stops working, and he has to fly from Hurghada several times during our stay. Here, let me help you in.”

  Joanna struggled into the seat and then shifted around, finding a comfortable position for her leg. She forced herself to relax as Kaia slid in from the other side and started the car. It was finally dawning on her that she was about to spend several days on a luxury yacht with an internationally famous film star and her agent, and all she had to do was let a few sharks chew her up.

  While they made the short trip to the dock, she stole brief glances at the woman driving. Kaia’s thick auburn hair was combed back informally and hung loosely down her back. Seen from the front and heavily made up, as she was in all her films, she looked darkly sensual, in a gypsy or Mediterranean sort of way. A perfect femme fatale. But without makeup and in profile she revealed the broad nose and forward cheekbones of the Polynesian. Enormous brown eyes were placed somewhat close together under luxuriant eyelashes. Her teeth were creamy white, with the faint prominence of her incisors filling out the muscles of her lips and lending an authoritative squareness to her mouth. Her chin was wide, firm, and the skin on her cheek and throat was a warm tan, a shade similar to that of most Egyptians.

  Joanna let her gaze slide discreetly down Kaia’s neck to her pale-blue shirt and noted that her breasts were smaller than they appeared on-screen. Joanna blushed thinking about Kaia’s breasts and forced her glance back onto the road.

  “I hope I won’t be in the way. Really. It’s still your vacation, after all.”

  “You won’t be in anyone’s way. You’ll have the VIP suite on the aft side of the crew’s cabins. If you’re not claustrophobic, you’ll enjoy it, I think. Charlie has already dropped off your clothes and some of your books. Maybe you can work a little.”

  Joanna winced. “Work? Yes, I suppose so, though all my designs are finished. I really need to begin the actual sculpture, but I can’t do that until I can walk and use both arms.”

  “That will happen soon enough. Before you know it, you’ll be up to speed again.” Kaia glanced over at her with an unreadable expression. Was it impatience at the thought of being a nursemaid? The whole arrangement was inexplicable.

  “Charlie told me your full name is Joanna Boleyn. Do you ever get teased about it?”

  “I used to at school. Especially when the class was studying English history. And when I would complain about it, someone would always wisecrack, ‘Now, your majesty, don’t lose your head over it!’ They always thought they were the first to make that joke. But those were kids. Adults aren’t usually so boorish.”

  “Do you suppose you’re related to her? The Tudor queen, I mean.”

  “Well, as you recall, she had only one daughter, Elizabeth, and that daughter had no children. It’s true, we might have some very distant connection through her father, but not enough to get me invited to Buckingham Palace for tea.”

  “Well, you’re invited to mine. And…here we are.” Kaia swerved to the right and brought the car to a halt.

  *

  The Hina was beyond what Joanna had expected. The white steel exterior was sleek with a streamlined shape that screamed money, power, and speed. She had always wondered why vacation fishing boats were designed that way. Did they expect to be chased by pirates?

  They boarded from the lower stern deck, which was some four by two meters square, with narrow staircases on both sides and a large steel locker fixed against a rear bulkhead. At the forward edge, two swiveling fisherman’s chairs were bolted to the deck. They had armrests and seatbelts, suggesting that the owners fished for big game.

  Kaia slipped an arm around Joanna’s back, helping her up the stairs to the main deck. At the top of the stairs, sliding-glass doors opened to reveal the interior and an immediate change of aesthetic.

  They stopped just inside and Kaia said, unnecessarily, “This is the salon.”

  Joanna suppressed the urge to express the “Oh, wow” she was thinking. The room that stretched out before her was wider than her London apartment, paneled in some pale honey-colored wood, probably teak. Rows of windows ran the length on both sides, illuminating the entire interior. On the left side was a cushioned bench, some four meters long, and covered with brightly colored pillows. On the right side were two tables, one significantly larger than the other, presumably for formal and informal dining, and beyond them a circular staircase led to the upper and lower decks. At the far end, an open door revealed the galley. The floor, of the same hard wood, was inlaid with the image of a giant marlin.

  A wiry, dark-skinned Egyptian of about thirty was just coming from the galley. Kaia gestured toward him. “This is Jibril, the one who pulled you out of the water.” Joanna offered her hand.

  He took it in a cool, quick handshake. “Allah has shown his mercy.”

  Genuinely grateful to the man, Joanna declined to inquire why Allah in his mercy had not held back the sharks in the first place and saved them all a lot of trouble. “Thank you so much for your help. I hope this goodness comes back to you.”

  Jibril’s slight smile told her she had said the right thing.

  “You’ll meet Abdullah, our cook, later, but this is Hamad, our pilot and engine man.” A portly man with a handlebar mustache bent toward her and shook her hand as well.

  “But, poor thing, you look like you’d rather just lie down a bit, so let me take you to your cabin.” Kaia led her to the spiral staircase just in front of the galley.

  “Can you manage?” Kaia stepped down first and offered a hand, seeming unsure where to take hold. She walked backward and watched while Joanna negotiated each step, first with the cane and then the weaker leg, while supporting her weight on the banister.

  “Yes, as long as I pay attention and make every move in the right order. But I won’t be up for any fire d
rills for a couple of days.”

  Kaia chuckled softly. “No drills of any kind. No calisthenics or morning jogs either. It’s a promise.” She led her a few steps along a narrow corridor to a door on the left. “The VIP cabin, with its own bathroom, is all yours. We haven’t used it in ages, so you can make yourself at home.”

  Joanna stood in the doorway absorbing the spectacle of a stateroom as large as any bedroom she’d ever slept in. As in the salon they had just passed through, the walls here seemed to be teak. The berth appeared to be queen-size, and its headboard had side panels with bookshelves, though they held only a few magazines. At the center of the bed her battered rucksack looked very much out of place on the pristine linen bedspread. One side of the cabin held lockers and a set of drawers, and the other a mirrored door. Kaia opened it, revealing the bathroom and walk-in shower behind it.

  “We hook up to land plumbing when we’re at the dock, so you don’t have to worry about skimping on hot water. Towels are here, and of course you can ask me or one of the crew for anything else you need.”

  Joanna entered hesitantly, supporting herself on her cane. “I don’t know what to say. It’s certainly nothing like the hostel I’ve been sleeping in.”

  “I expect it’s not. But this cabin’s empty most of the time, so I’m glad someone’s getting the benefit of it. I’ll let you unpack now and rest a little.” She glanced through the porthole at the afternoon sky. “It’s still early. My husband will be along soon, but we won’t have supper until around seven. You can have a nap if you like.” Kaia clasped her hands in front of her, looking vaguely like a housekeeper, a drop-dead gorgeous, Polynesian, Academy-Award-winning housekeeper.