by Frank Zafiro
A cloud passed over the half-moon, darkening their faces.
A small surge of anger flickered in my belly.
I smiled at them.
“Hello, lads,” I said in my sweetest tone. I’d been expecting Conor again, but I guess it made sense that he wouldn’t do the dirty work himself.
One of the men was sitting on the car’s bonnet. His expression didn’t change, but he gave a small wave to the other man. The second man, much larger, flicked away his cigarette. He stepped forward.
“Raise yer arms, lass,” he grunted at me.
I held my arms straight out to the side. He ran his heavy hands over me, squeezing at every pocket. He didn’t linger, but he made sure to touch everywhere. The anger in my belly grew warmer.
“Jes’ the keys, Cap’n,” he told the seated man when he’d finished.
“Captain, is it?” I asked him.
He ignored me and nodded at his number two again. Number Two trundled off toward the van.
“Ye should go look yerself,” I told the Captain. “She’s beautiful.”
He said nothing.
“Especially in the eyes,” I added, giving him a sultry stare.
He returned my stare with a flat gaze.
“What’s the matter?” I asked him in the same voice that sent Sean to the loo. “Are ye mute?”
A small smile curled up on his lips. “No. I can talk.”
“All business, then?”
He shrugged. “Aye, I suppose that’s it. Orders, ye know.”
“And yer a good soldier, right?”
His jaw set a little bit. “Aye, I am. Are ye mocking me there, lass? Because — ”
“Not at all,” I assured him. “I admire what yer doing. I wish there was more that I could do for the Cause.”
He looked me up and down. “A fine looking woman like you? There’s a lot you could do.”
I shook my head. “Nah, not like that. I don’t want to be someone’s plaything.”
“No, no,” he sputtered. “I didn’t mean that. I meant that — ”
“That I could be some sort of operator, perhaps?”
He sighed in relief. “Exactly.”
“Do ye suppose ye could, I don’t know…tell yer people about me? That I’d like to help? With something real, not the small errands Niall passes off to me.”
“Niall?” He snorted. “That fecking poser.”
“Aye, he is. So you’ll pass on the word?”
He nodded. “Of course.”
I smiled. “Good. Who knows? Perhaps we could work together, ye and I.”
He smiled back. “Perhaps.”
Number Two appeared at my side. “It’s there, Cap’n. And…” he trailed off.
Captain turned his eyes to Number Two. “And what, lad?”
Number Two shrugged. “It’s beautiful. I never saw nothing like it before.”
“I told you,” I said to Captain. “And now, do ye have something for me?”
There was a brief silent moment. I could almost hear Captain’s internal argument as he decided whether to go through with the deal or simply kill me. I gazed at him with the most enigmatic look I could muster, given that my heart was pounding like a trip hammer.
“Did ye see her eyes, lad?” Captain asked Number Two while staring back at me.
“Aye. That’s the end I unstrapped and pulled back.”
“What did they look like?”
Number Two was quiet for a moment. He took several breaths while he thought about the question. Finally, he said in a reverent voice, “They’ll haunt me for the rest of my days, those eyes.”
Surprise registered in Captain’s eyes. He glanced at Number Two as if amazed that he was capable of such deep thoughts, but the larger man wasn’t looking at him. I followed Captain’s gaze and saw that Number Two’s eyes were glazed in thought as he stared off into the night.
Captain and I locked eyes again. I saw in his that he’d made his decision.
I waited.
“Get the bag for the lady,” Captain ordered.
Number Two shook himself from his reverie and went to the trunk of the car. I imagined for a moment that he might emerge with a shotgun, blazing away at me. But he closed the trunk and returned with a small travelling bag. He set it on the bonnet next to Captain.
Captain unzipped it and held it open for me. Stacks of wrapped pound notes were inside.
“Ye want to count it?”
I shook my head. “If I can’t trust ye at this point, what is the point?”
He smiled. “True that.”
He tossed the bag to me. I caught it deftly.
“We’ll trade,” Captain told me. He motioned to the car he sat on. “The keys are in it.”
“That’s fine,” I said. Then I frowned. “But I forgot my bag in the van. I’ll just grab it if ye don’t mind?”
Suspicion darkened his face. “What bag?”
“My handbag,” I said. “With woman things, ye know? My ID, too. I’ll be needing it.”
He turned to Number Two. “Did ye see a bag in the van?”
The lantern-jawed man thought a moment. Then he nodded. “I think so.”
Captain returned his gaze to me, still suspicious. “Hurry it, then. And he goes with ye.”
I shrugged. “I’ll only be a second.”
I turned and walked toward the van, hoping that Captain wasn’t bright enough to ask for the keys before I got close enough to run for it. Number Two’s heavy footsteps fell in several paces behind me.
By my best estimate, once I made my move, I had less than two seconds. All of my life came down to those brief seconds. I took a long, lingering breath. I could smell the sea salt on the air. In that moment, it was the most beautiful scent I’d ever experienced.
I slipped my hand into my pocket and prepared the ignition key, gripping it tightly between my thumb and forefinger.
I heard Number Two’s steady footfalls behind me. Quieter still, I could hear the wind moving lightly through the treetops and the thick grass of the meadow.
At the van, I swung open the driver’s door and tossed the bag of money onto the passenger’s side. Then I vaulted into the driver’s seat. I slammed the door shut and hit the lock.
Number Two was at the window immediately. He clawed at the door handle, pulling at the door. The van rocked wildly as I jammed the key into the ignition and turned it.
The engine turned over, caught and failed.
Number Two raised his meaty palm in the air.
I realized I’d let go of the ignition key too soon. I cranked it again. The engine caught and roared to life. I gunned the accelerator.
Number Two’s open hand crashed into the window, shattering it.
I suppressed a scream. I jerked it into gear and punched the gas. The van lurched forward. Number Two’s clutching hands swept past me. He grasped at my shoulder but only grazed me with the tips of his fingers.
I pointed the van on the road toward the lighthouse.
I gripped the wheel and drove.
Headlights sprang to life in the rearview mirror.
I clenched my jaw.
A few moments later, those lights glared at me at my rear bumper, hounding me.
Just lead them to the Inspector. And ye get yer new life.
The road turned sharply to the right and dropped onto the coastal road. I made the acute turn and headed for the lighthouse, less than a kilometer away. Like a fox chasing a rabbit, Captain and Number Two barreled after me in the car.
I allowed myself to smile.
That was when they hit me.
The van jumped and lurched from the force of it. I struggled with the wheel and managed to keep it straight. They were only trying to scare me. That was all. Bump into the little girl and make her so scared that she stops.
Well, I wasn’t going to stop. And with Ahwere on board, the van outweighed the car. A little bump wasn’t going to-
The bump came again, this time near my rear whe
el. The car didn’t pull away. I wondered for a moment if our bumpers were locked.
Then my world began to spin.
I struggled to right the van, but couldn’t. The screech of rubber tires on the asphalt filled the air and then there was silence.
I felt my stomach fall out from under me.
Fear lanced through my limbs.
They’d pushed me right off the edge of the road.
I was falling. Falling into the -
The splash created a deep woofing sound and then there was blackness.
I am dead.
But I could hear the glugging rush of water as it found its way into the van.
And I felt the warm trickle of blood on my forehead.
No, I’m still alive.
But sinking into the ocean!
The chilly water was up to my waist already. The brackish smell of salt filled the air inside the van. Dim yellow spears of light from the headlights gave me the only reference point in the world. I reached for the seatbelt and felt nothing. I hadn’t strapped myself in.
Okay. How to get out?
I fumbled around for the door handle and found it. I pulled on it and drove my shoulder into the door. It didn’t budge.
Still locked?
I scrambled for the lock and located the small nub. I pulled it up until I felt a definite click. Then I felt around for the door handle again. Once I found it, I pulled on it and used my shoulder to push against the door.
No movement.
The water! I wouldn’t be able to open the door until the inside of the van filled with water.
I glanced around in the near darkness of the van’s interior. I couldn’t see my handbag or the bag full of money. Ahwere’s casket was barely a dull shadow behind me.
Water continued to rush in through the shattered window.
The headlights flickered once, then winked out.
The window. Of course.
I tilted my head back and sucked in a deep breath of air from near the top of the cabin. Without pausing, I dropped below the cold waters. I kept my eyes open, though I couldn’t see anything in the darkness. I felt around for the steering wheel and when I’d located it, I pulled myself toward it. From there, I made my best guess at the open window. As I slid through the opening, I felt my shoulder catch a corner. A jolt of pain shot down my arm, but I adjusted and kicked forward. There was a slice at my knee as I passed through the opening, followed by a trickle of warmth, but I ignored it.
Once free of the van, I paddled and kicked toward the surface. When my head broke through, I took several deep breaths of fresh air.
Small, wavering lights combed the surface of the water nearby.
They must have had torches with them. Goddamn soldiers. Always prepared.
I glanced left and right, choosing a point on the shoreline. Then I took a deep breath and went under again.
Deep breath by deep breath, I made way to the shore. I don’t believe that their damnable torch lights ever swept over me while I was above water. The further I got from the crash point, the less I worried they’d see me.
Of course, they’d be looking for me later. They all would. Niall and his crew. The IRA. The Peelers. All of them.
Eventually, I stayed above water, drawing in ragged breaths and stroking relentlessly toward the shoreline. My shoulder ached. My head throbbed. My muscles ached.
I stared ahead and stroked.
Behind me, Ahwere sank into the bay along with all my money and my old self.
Before me lay the shore line. Beyond that shore was Canada. My uncle Terry. A new life.
My muscles burned like melting rubber.
I stroked forward.
No Worse Curse
“I’m still not quite sure why ye called me,” I told Dex.
He didn’t sigh or show any sign of impatience. His voice had an excited edge to it. “I called you, Sean, because you’re the only one I can trust. And I need your help.”
We drove in silence for another kilometer. I tried to organize everything he’d told me over the phone and failed. “Run it past me again, lad.”
Dex glanced at me, his eyes alive and gleaming with enthusiasm. “It’s simple. What don’t you understand?”
“The whole entire thing. Go over it again.”
This time he did sigh. “Okay, it’s like this. You know my graduate work involves a history of lesser English lords, right?”
“They’re all lesser in my book, the rotters.”
Dex ignored my comment. “So my emphasis has been on the Hunt family, particularly Lord Randal Hunt. His family has opened up their estate to me, all their papers, everything.”
“Of course they have. Anything to get written up like a proper English lord by some Yank scholar.”
“Yeah,” Dex admitted, “I’m sure they like the attention. But I don’t care why they did it, just that they have.”
I shrugged.
Dex signaled and pulled onto the main road through town. “Anyway, I’ve been working out there all summer, going through the library and the storage rooms. It’s been pretty boring, to tell the truth. But I kept on.”
“Gotta get that degree, aye?”
“That’s part of it. But there’s more. Randal was an amateur archeologist. He spent most of the family fortune traipsing around the world, sponsoring different digs. In the early 1930s, he was in Egypt.”
I yawned. “So what?”
“So,” Dex said, “rumor has it that he found a burial chamber while he was there.”
“Rumor, is it?”
Dex nodded. “Yeah. It was all hush-hush. He was on a dig for months, then suddenly disappeared one night. Two weeks later, he’s back in England, declaring the dig a bust, just like all the others.”
“Sounds like an eejit,” I said. I was beginning to think the same of Dex. For a Yank, he’d been an all right drinking mate at the pub most of the summer, even if he was a wee bit too serious for his own good. But now he was waking me up in the middle of the night to give me a history lesson about some English noble that I couldn’t have cared less about. I didn’t like that, not at all. Only me boys in Sinn Fein ought to be waking a man up in the middle of the night.
“Maybe not,” Dex said. “Everyone thought he was crazy, that’s for sure. But I think he was crazy like a fox.”
“How’s that?”
“The dig wasn’t a total bust. They did find a burial chamber. In Egypt.”
I thought about Brian and Niall probably having a pint and closing down the pub. I’d rather be there, that was for sure. “Fire enough arrows in enough directions, sooner or later, ye hit a target, lad.”
“Well, they did. But the tomb was empty. The Egyptian Antiquities Commission secured the site. It was a burial sepulcher for a consort to Thutmose II. Her name was Ahwere. It was just a hole in the wall, really, compared to the Pharaoh’s tomb. But apparently he loved her enough to preserve her for the afterlife.”
I smiled. “A woman can do that to a man.”
He nodded and went on. “Lord Hunt said that grave robbers got to the find centuries ago. The Egyptian authorities accused him of being the grave robber. They thought he gathered up all of the burial items and high-tailed it out of Egypt.”
“Sounds just like an Englishman. Rapers and pillagers, all.”
“Maybe, but they could never prove it. They searched his family estate outside London and found nothing. Scotland Yard even did an investigation, along with Interpol. Eventually, the searched the estate here in Ireland, too. They didn’t find anything.”
“Big surprise,” I said. “Feckin’ Peelers couldn’t find their own arse with both hands and map.”
A large smile spread across Dex’s face. “I found it.”
I blinked. “Ye what?”
He glanced at me, beaming. “He did steal that mummy and everything in the tomb. And I think I found where he stashed it.”
“How do ye know that?”
“I figured it out,” Dex
said. “It doesn’t matter how. You wouldn’t understand, anyway.”
I narrowed my eyes. “So now I’m the eejit?” I asked him in a low, flat voice.
Dex winced slightly. “No. Sorry, that’s not what I meant.”
“It’s what ye said.”
“It’s not like that, though,” he insisted, his tone apologetic. “It took me months to figure it out and I’m not sure even I have all the answers yet.”
He glanced at me side-long. I studied his face in the shadows of the car. I wondered what game he was playing. “If ye don’t have it figured out yet, what the hell are we doing here?”
“It had to do with a passage from Howard Carter’s biography,” he explained. “He’s the one who found King Tut’s tomb. When he looked into the crypt through a hole in the wall, one of his assistants asked him what he could see inside. He replied, ‘Wonderful things.’ Key phrases on that page were underlined. It was a cryptogram. I took the phrases and cross-referenced it with other books, even the ones about the supposed curses-”
I raised my hand. “Leave it. So you found his little pet mummy. So what?”
Dex’s eyes widened. “So what? Sean, do you know what a mummy is worth?”
“Not a pile of shite.”
He shook his head. “No, no, no. It’s worth millions.”
“No, it’s not,” I corrected him. “It’s worth what ye can sell it for. And there’s no way ye can sell a mummy. Not in today’s world. It’s like trying to sell a Picasso or a Rembrandt. Too high profile. All the museums are on alert. All ye’d get is grabbed up and tossed in some English jail. Or worse, an Egyptian one.”
“If you stole a mummy today and then tried to sell it, you’re right.” Dex signaled and turned off the main road onto Hunt Lane. “But no one is looking for this consort. Ahwere is almost forgotten to history. The Egyptians gave up looking seventy years ago. There’s no scrutiny.”
I raised my eyebrows.
“And,” he added, “there’s always a private collector out there who’d be willing to buy a mummy.”
I thought about it. He was right. The goddamn Yank was right.
“Where did ye hide it?” I asked him.
His face fell. “Well, I don’t exactly have it yet.”
“What?”