The Iron Tomb

by Peter Vegas

  Sam froze. It had to be the man from the car. Suddenly, his hideout felt like a trap. Why had he taken the first open door he found?

  There was more paper rustling, and then the man spoke again. “Have . . . you . . . seen . . . a boy? A . . . boyyyy?”

  Sam had been thrown a lifeline: The shopkeeper didn’t speak English.

  “Forget about it,” said the man in frustration. There were more footsteps. Was he leaving? Sam could only crouch there and hope, but then a high shrill filled the shop and ruined everything. The footsteps stopped as Sam fumbled for the ringing cell phone in his pocket, but it was too late. He was busted.

  * * *

  THERE WAS ONLY ONE WAY out of the shop, but Sam had two ways to get there. Back down the aisle and straight past the counter, or head to the front of the shop, then down to the door.

  Two became one when the man appeared at the far end of the shelf. He was bigger than he’d seemed in the car. Or maybe it was the cramped space in the store. Sam had thought he was bald, but now he could see the man had blond hair, but shaved so short there was almost no trace of it. And then Sam noticed his boots. They were black and polished. The last time he’d seen them they had been inches from his face.

  The Short-Haired Man wasn’t moving. He didn’t have to. Sam was trapped. Whichever way he tried to run, the man could easily move to block him.

  “It seems you gave my colleague the slip, Sam.” The man had a European accent. His tone was soft and patronizing. “Perhaps we should go now, yes?”

  They were facing each other like gunfighters. Unarmed gunfighters. But then Sam realized he had plenty of ammo. Shelves full of it. Jars of olives were lined up at head height, so Sam grabbed one with each hand and hurled them down the aisle.

  The Short-Haired Man laughed as the first one smashed near his boots. The startled cry from the counter told Sam that the shop owner had had a very different attitude. But the laughing stopped when the second bottle of olives exploded on the wall, showering Sam’s target with olives and shards of glass. The color of his face changed to a mottled red. He bellowed in anger and charged down the aisle.

  Sam had just made things much, much worse. He stumbled back, and around the end of the shelf. The empty middle aisle lay in front of him. It seemed like the quickest way out, so he took it, but halfway down, he realized it was a big mistake.

  Three bags of flour exploded off the shelf in front of him. An open hand followed and swung wildly at Sam, forcing him to stop dead in his tracks. Through a gap in the shelf he caught a glimpse of the Short-Haired Man, wide-eyed and angry. Another hand punched its way through. The aisle wasn’t wide enough to step back. All Sam could do was duck under as the first hand swung past.

  “Where you going, Sam?” the man taunted. “Left? Right?”

  He had Sam trapped again, but this time only the shelf separated them. The man lunged through another gap, lower this time, and Sam didn’t see the hand coming. There was a yell of triumph as Sam’s leg was caught and pulled toward the shelf. His body hit the shelf so hard, the whole thing wobbled like a badly built fence, and at that moment Sam saw a way out. He placed both hands on the shelf above his head and pushed.

  The next noise was one of surprise, followed quickly by a scream as the entire shelf unit toppled over.

  The man let go of Sam and tried to get out of the way, but gravity won. He’d moved only a couple of feet before the ceiling-high wall of goods crashed on top of him.

  It wasn’t fatal, not by a long shot. Sam could hear the man screaming and cursing. Behind the counter the shop owner was cowering under his newspaper.

  “Sorry about that,” Sam said as he ran out the door.

  The incident in the shop hadn’t gone unheard. People were popping out from behind every door, transforming the place into the souk Sam was more familiar with.

  He fought the urge to run, and it paid off. Strolling casually down the alley, a young white boy was completely ignored by nosy neighbors eager to investigate the ruckus that had disturbed their morning.

  Sam headed deeper into the souk. He may have been moving at the pace of a kid without a care in the world, but his mind was going a million miles an hour. The shop owner would get over his shock and was sure to get the police involved, and as if that weren’t enough, there was still the problem of the Short-Haired Man and the stranger who’d staked out his uncle’s apartment. Things were going from bad to worse. So far Sam had been lucky, but how long could his streak last? He had to get off the street. Fast.

  The solution was waiting around the next corner. Two words that told him this was the perfect place to lie low for a while: KEEP OUT.

  8

  A FAMILIAR FACE

  “SORRY ABOUT BEFORE,” MARY SAID when she answered the phone. “Did my call wake you up?”

  Sam laughed. “Not exactly.”

  “So, what were you doing?”

  “It’s a long story. I’ll tell you about it later. Listen, I think I worked out one of the clues.”

  “Well, I’ve got some news too. You go first.”

  “Okay. You know those squiggles beside the name Panehesy? They’re Egyptian hieratic numerals.”

  There was a brief pause on the other end of the line. “How did you work that out?”

  “I found a book in a shop.”

  “You went shopping?” Mary sounded surprised.

  “Not by choice, believe me.”

  “So what do these hieratic numerals mean?”

  “Well, that’s the thing,” said Sam, “I don’t know yet. I had to leave the shop in a hurry and forgot the book. I was wondering if you could find some info on hieratic numbers and send it to me.”

  “No problem. But, Sam, you really shouldn’t be wandering into shops in the daytime. There could be people looking for you!”

  Mary didn’t know the half of it.

  “Anyway, here’s my news. The mole tracked down the location of the computer your uncle e-mailed you from in Alexandria. I was worried it might be an Internet café or motel, but it’s more interesting than that.”

  “Okay.” Mary had Sam’s complete attention.

  “The Port Authority. They’re responsible for all the ships that come in and out of Alexandria.”

  Sam didn’t say anything.

  “Are you still there?” asked Mary.

  He was. He was just confused. “What does that mean? Why would he be at the Port Authority?”

  “Well, I don’t know exactly, but it must have something to do with why he was in trouble. Maybe he was expecting a shipment. Did he mention anything like that to you?”

  “No. Nothing. He said he was doing research on Akhenaten.”

  Mary hurried on. “Look, it doesn’t matter. We know he was there, and I know someone in Alexandria who will go to the office and find out why.” She paused. “Well, Bassem does,” she admitted.

  “Bassem will do that for me?”

  “No,” said Mary. “But he’ll do it for me.”

  Sam could tell by the way she’d replied that her answer was directed at two sets of ears. His and a pair that was in the room with her. “It will take a bit of time for our man in Alexandria to do his thing. What are you going to do until then?”

  It was odd the way Mary referred to “our man in Alexandria,” as though she were a spy chief or something, but Sam didn’t say anything. He was getting the feeling there was more to Mary than met the eye. “I need to get to Amarna,” he answered.

  “Are you still in your uncle’s storeroom? We could come and get you.”

  “I kind of had to leave there in a hurry. I’m in a new place.”

  “What? Where?”

  “A shop.”

  “A shop? Is that safe?”

  “This one is. It’s empty,” said Sam.

  “Empty” was an understatement. “Completely gutted” was more accurate. A concrete shell with a boarded-up door and windows.

  “How did you end up in an empty shop?” asked Mary.
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  “Well, like I said, it’s a long story. I got back to the apartment building, but I wasn’t tired, so . . .” Sam’s recap of the morning’s events came to halt. “Mary, I have to go.”

  “Why? Is something wrong?”

  “No, no. Not really. I just saw someone I know.”

  “I thought I was the only person you knew in Cairo,” Mary said almost indignantly.

  “Look, there’s no time to explain. I’ll call you later.” Sam felt bad hanging up on her, but he’d just spotted the only other person he could trust in Cairo, right outside his hideout.

  * * *

  “HADI! HADI! PSSST!”

  Sam could tell Hadi had heard his name the first time, but it took him a couple of seconds to work out where the voice was coming from. Finally, Hadi turned to face the empty shop and met Sam’s eyes through a gap in the boards covering the window.

  “Sam Force? Is that you?”

  Sam nodded.

  “I’ve been looking for you, my friend.”

  “Looking for me? Why?”

  Hadi glanced left and right, checking that it was safe to talk. Then he leaned closer to the window and lowered his voice. “Sam, my friend, you made big trouble in that shop this morning. Police, they are everywhere, and they all have photos of you. When I see the trouble you are in, I think maybe if I could find you, I can help. But you found me, yes? How can I help?”

  Sam answered instantly. “I need to get to Amarna.”

  Hadi didn’t reply, and instead he disappeared from Sam’s sight. Sam worried he might have scared the taxi driver off with his request. “Hadi? Are you still there?”

  “Yes, Sam. Amarna is far from Cairo.”

  “Two hundred miles. I have a map.”

  “A thing like this may take some time to arrange.”

  “And I don’t have much money.” Sam was worried that the confession could be a deal breaker, but Hadi was unfazed.

  “No problem. I do this because you are my friend, yes?”

  “Yes,” answered Sam gratefully.

  “For now, you wait here, yes?”

  “Sure.”

  Sam heard the shuffle of feet on the pavement and knew Hadi had gone.

  * * *

  SAM RECEIVED TWO DELIVERIES THAT afternoon.

  The first, from Mary, was a graph of Egyptian hieratic numerals. Sam laid the Panehesy note next to the picture he’d received in the text message and proceeded to decode the squiggles.

  One thousand nine hundred forty-two was the answer. But the answer to what?

  The second delivery came in the more traditional form: a box.

  A shoe box, to be specific.

  A shoe box for a pair of size 10, brown suede business shoes, to be really specific.

  The box came in the same way Sam had—through the small gap under the boards that were nailed across the doorway. He wasn’t expecting to see a pair of size 10 brown suede business shoes when he removed the lid, but what he did find shocked him.

  It looked like a handgun from the future. Sleek and black, with a small telescopic sight mounted on the top. Only the chunky silver lettering on the side ruined the look—SPACE RANGER LASER. Sam had no illusions about the weapon’s laser capabilities, but he couldn’t resist trying it out. Aiming across the room, he pulled the trigger. The tip of the barrel glowed bright green as a small pellet shot out. It hit the wall with a sharp clack and bounced back across the floor. With a newfound respect for his Space Ranger Laser, Sam placed it on the floor and continued going through the box.

  The next item was a crudely drawn street map that began at a point S, which Sam guessed was the souk, and ended at somewhere called T 6. There was also a flashlight, a Snickers bar, and a necklace with a scarab beetle like the one Hadi had hanging in his taxi. Under all that was a note.

  Sam put on the necklace and ripped open the Snickers. He hadn’t eaten since the early morning pizza. His diet definitely wouldn’t get the approval of the school nurse, but it was just what he needed. He devoured the bar as he read what Hadi had to say.

  Sam,

  It is better for me to give you your instructions like this. Police are still looking for you, my friend, I am told there is a reward for you now.

  Do not worry. I know a man; his name is Kareem. He has a truck going to Al Minya. This is very close to Amarna. He will take you as favor for me. Be ready at 10.

  I will make a distraction. When you hear it, leave the shop. Go left to the first alley, and there you will see the entrance to the sewer.

  It is too dangerous for you to be on the streets, even at night. The sewer is better.

  Follow my map. It will take you to the compound where Kareem’s truck is. But when you reach it WAIT INSIDE! There are guards at the trucks. Kareem will open the sewer at 6 sharp. Be there, Sam. He will not wait.

  Remember, you must follow the map exactly: The sewer system is big_maybe as big as Cairo itself. There are not many ways out. If you get lost, you will stay lost.

  Your good friend,

  Hadi

  Now the rough map made sense and the hastily drawn lines looked more ominous. Not simple streets, but tunnels under the city. Stinky tunnels, Sam suspected. Still, it didn’t sound like he had much choice. But why the toy gun?

  He found out when he turned the piece of paper over.

  The gun is good, yes? This is a gift, from a shop owner who will not miss it. Use it for protection. And the necklace is my gift to you, Sam. Remember, it will bring you luck. Make sure you put it on.

  Sam was touched by the gift of the necklace, but was Hadi having a laugh about the gun? Protection from what? Space monsters?

  * * *

  FOR SAM, THE REST OF the day dragged on like math class. Complete and utter boredom, interrupted only by short periods of sleep. It wasn’t that he found math or any of his other classes hard. He just couldn’t see the point. Why study? Why go to all the effort if your life could be over just like that? Another symptom of someone who had suffered a huge personal tragedy? So Sam was told. But sometimes he wondered if it was just the way he was. After all, who really knew where the original Sam stopped and the Sam who had lost both parents started? He didn’t. But he had learned how the game worked. He always did just enough schoolwork to avoid being called to the counselor for another chat.

  Sam didn’t call Mary back. He knew she’d ring him if she had news, but he was starting to have second thoughts. There was something too . . . composed about her. Like she did stuff like this every day. He couldn’t help but be the tiniest bit suspicious. In the end, he did send her a text telling her his friend had arranged a ride to Amarna for him, but he left out most of the details, just in case.

  Night fell and, like all cities across the Middle East, things got busier. People lived their life at the end of the day in this part of the world. As zero hour approached and the foot traffic increased, Sam tried to work out what Hadi had planned. What if he missed the signal? Or worse, what if Hadi’s distraction wasn’t distracting enough? If it drew more people near his hideout but didn’t hold their attention, that would just make things worse. He could end up crawling straight into a trap.

  He needn’t have worried. When ten o’clock rolled around, Sam and everyone else in the souk heard Hadi.

  9

  THE TALKING BRIDGE

  SAM DIDN’T SEE ANYTHING, BUT he heard it. A small motorbike, going too fast, crashed into a wall, triggering a barrage of angry screams.

  What happened next drew Sam to the window in a hurry.

  Another crashing sound, but this was like an old wooden shed exploding. It was immediately followed by the distressed squawks of lots and lots of chickens. Through the gaps in the boarded window, it looked like a giant pillow fight had just taken place. It was only when Sam spotted Hadi, standing in the middle of the feathery crash site, wearing a helmet, that Sam realized: This was the distraction.

  Flimsy crates had burst apart, and the feathered prisoners, who all seemed to have e
scaped unharmed, were making an unorganized bid for freedom. The problem was, despite the spectacle, it didn’t seem to have attracted much attention, and the doorway to the hideout was still dangerously exposed.

  But Sam was about to find out that he didn’t know the residents of the souk as well as Hadi did.

  Within the next thirty seconds, the scene was flooded with open arms and hungry mouths as everyone within earshot came after a free meal. The noise made by the eager bargain hunters and their prey rose to rock-concert levels, and then the shrill pitch of a siren was thrown into the mix as a policeman on a motorbike rolled in. Sam was worried that this would spoil Hadi’s plan, but instead of attempting to control the situation the policeman tore off his helmet and joined the chicken run.

  The street was packed with people. It was time for Sam to leave.

  His first attempt failed as a distraught hen charged in through the small gap at the bottom of the door, sending Sam back on his butt. The new tenant fled to the back of the empty shop, and Sam tried again.

  He crawled out into the crowd and then, keeping his head down, got to his feet and went left, looking for the alleyway.

  The entrance to the sewer was right where Hadi said it would be. An empty Coke can jammed under the manhole cover made it easy for Sam to push it aside.

  As he climbed down the narrow iron ladder, Hadi came running down the alley.

  “Good, you found it,” said the young taxi driver as he spat chicken feathers out of his mouth.

  “Yeah, thanks. You come to see me off?”

  “I’ll put manhole cover back,” Hadi replied, skidding to a stop. “Need to make sure you are not followed.” He motioned back up the alley. “You like my distraction?”

  Sam nodded. “Very original. Where’d you find so many chickens?”

  “Ah.” Hadi smiled. “I take a job this afternoon as chicken delivery boy.” He nodded back toward the street, where the free food rumble raged on. “Job not work out so well. I might go back to taxi, eh?”

  “Sure. But maybe you should keep the crash helmet.” Hadi didn’t get the joke, so Sam changed the subject. “Hey, thanks for all your help. I don’t know how I can repay you for—”