The Lost Tomb of Cleopatra (Brook Burlington Book 1)

by JT Osbourne

  "You understand these were really done by a studio, rather than an individual?" Emily protested.

  "I understand."

  "A student's work might be indistinguishable from another student's, or that of the teacher himself. And as for what we'd call 'self-expression...'" Emily trailed off.

  "This guy signed his work," Green told her.

  "Really?" Emily asked, turning from the screen.

  "Yes."

  Green wrote the name—which translated as ‘Neferu of Rakota’ in the local hieroglyphic—on a piece of scratch paper, pushing it to Emily.

  "If you come across any sign of this—it'll be on the bottom—make a note."

  "O-okay." Emily went back to the stone carvings. "I can probably link some together and separate others, but it’s hardly a fingerprint. More like a wild guess."

  "I know you'll do your best, Emily," Green said. He was no longer in the mood for disclaimers. He'd had a lifetime of those.

  "Professor..." Emily began, then dismissed the thought. "Give me a couple of days."

  "Certainly. Thank you so much."

  "Always glad to help," Emily replied.

  Green walked back out, thinking to himself. The world had once been his, the entire planet, stretching back thousands of years. Now it's back to your cubbyhole.

  35

  Alexandria, Egypt

  Brook recognized the man at the restaurant door, but no name came to mind. He seemed like a younger, fresher, and cleaner version than the man she remembered saving.

  He spotted her and beamed waving his hand high and striding past the bewildered maître d’.

  Brook ducked.

  "What?" Katy asked, taking a look herself. "Well, who's this?" she smirked.

  "I don't know," Brook hissed under her breath. By then he was there, looming over the table. She had no idea what to say.

  "We meet again!" the man declared, though Brook still scrambled for his name. "This nice person saved my life—pulled me out of the Sinai desert when I was half-dead," he informed Katy.

  "Oh?" Katy asked, intrigued, her eyes moving to Brook.

  "Yes!" Brook blurted out, giving herself away, yet remembering now. "Tom —?"

  "Tom Manor," he said, offering his hand to Katy first, then Brook.

  Then Grekov and Rabbit were on him, Too late, if he had been a true assassin. They escorted him to a nearby table and bent him roughly over the white tablecloth, bouncing forks, napkins and the centerpiece to the floor. He was frisked quickly and helplessly, Grekov whispering "We meet again, my friend," in his ear, like some kind of Bond villain.

  "He is clean," Grekov announced, presenting Tom to the two female diners while Rabbit quickly removed the knives and forks from their table.

  The two Russians bowed their way back to whatever hole they'd crawled out from, passing Ali on the way, who had just returned.

  Trying to pretend nothing had happened, Tom offered his hand. "Tom Manor."

  "Ali Rahman."Ali looked to Brook. "Is this your young man?" he asked, a strange gleam in his eye.

  Brook shook her head. "This is Tom from the Sinai—"

  "Oh, that young man!" Ali exclaimed, relieved.

  Brook and Katy gave each other a look at Ali's obvious jealousy.

  "Sit, sit!" Ali ordered, patting Tom's shoulder like a long-lost fraternity brother. "You seemed to have recovered from your ordeal. Let us buy you a drink. Tell us the whole story! Brook claims to know nothing about you, or how you got there."

  Tom seemed genuinely embarrassed by the attention, and Brook wondered if she'd been wrong about him. "I'm the one who should be buying the drinks," he said softly as he sat, reaching to Brook but not quite touching her. "You saved my life."

  "I'm sure another car would have come along if it hadn't been me," Brook replied.

  "And probably run me over!" Tom said.

  Ali signaled a waiter, and they all ordered drinks.

  "I'm glad you're okay," Brook said simply.

  "No permanent damage, they tell me," Tom grinned. "Unfortunately, the temporary stuff was pretty painful. As soon as I could, I got on a train to come here and express my gratitude."

  "How'd you know where I was?" Brook asked, her tone more accusatory than she intended.

  "Your brother."

  "Carl?" both Brook and Katy asked at the same time.

  "That's right. I had your name, and knew something about the foundation, so I called him." Tom was suddenly sheepish. "I hope that's okay?"

  Brook didn't say a word. He seemed like a nice guy, but pushy, though that wasn't all that bad. Both Ali and Katy seemed to like him, and he was certainly handsome, and rich, no doubt. What's not to like?

  "Tom is an archaeology buff," Brook told Ali.

  "Yes, I am," Tom asserted, "and not a bit embarrassed about it. How could I pass up the chance to see the ruins of the Library at Alexandria, and maybe get the four-star tour by some real-life archaeologists to boot?"

  Ali, Brook, and Katy exchanged glances and tried not to smirk.

  "What did I say?" Tom asked. "Did I say something stupid?"

  Brook shook her head. Ali didn't think it was his place to say either.

  "The Library at Alexandria..." Katy began.

  "Burned down, right?" Tom asked. "Destroying most of the world's knowledge?"

  The others smiled.

  "No?" Tom was bewildered.

  "It might have burned down several times in its existence," Katy explained. "In fact, there's nothing really left of anything that could be called a library. No evidence at all."

  Tom looked to the others for confirmation.

  "Actually, there's no proof this wonderful library ever even existed at all, at least in the way we think of it." Ali informed Tom.

  "Didn't Julius Caesar burn it down?" Tom asked, incredulous.

  Ali shrugged. The other two repeated the gesture.

  "Well, I am a rube!" Tom exclaimed, finishing his drink in one swallow and clunking the glass to the table. "That's why I'm so glad I found you guys. I want to volunteer. I want to help. I want to get an education in all of this. All of it."

  Brook, Katy and Ali glanced at each other, one thought between them: is this guy for real?

  36

  The Dig Site

  Matrouh Governorate, Egypt

  The next day, Ali and Tom took the lead car out to the dig. Brook and Katy followed, with Grekov driving.

  "Did you have any luck with that project we discussed?" Brook asked Katy, flicking her eyes in Grekov's direction.

  Grekov gave no reaction. He either didn't hear, or pretended not to.

  "No luck," Katy answered, shaking her head. "I've got calls in, but no response yet."

  "Oh," Brook said, unable to hide her disappointment.

  "Is it possible my personal charm is fading?" Katy asked.

  "It's possible."

  Shocked, Katy slapped Brook's arm. "You're supposed to say 'not a chance!' What's wrong with you?"

  "Oh yeah! Not a chance. You're more charming than ever."

  "Better," Katy laughed, "but the acting could use some work."

  Brook settled into her seat and looked out at the vastness of the desert. She felt better, but maybe not well enough to deal with Katy all day. She snuck a glance to her friend, checking; no sign of the camera.

  "You think they're talking about us up there?" Katy asked, nodding to the car ahead.

  "I don't know," Brook answered honestly.

  "That Tom is something," Katy needled.

  "Uh-huh."

  "You don't trust him, do you?" Katy challenged.

  Brook shrugged, though the answer was clearly "no."

  "You think he's asking Ali about you?" Katy suggested. "Feeling him out? Trying to figure what's what?"

  "Cut it out, Katy. We're not in high school, okay?"

  "Yeah, well...about Ali..." Katy began what sounded like it might turn into a confession—

  "No, Katy," Brook ordered, throwing her
hands up around her ears. "Don't. I don't want to hear it."

  That got Grekov's attention. He divided his attention between the rear-view mirror and the hard dirt road.

  Katy suppressed a giggle. "You like a good cat-fight do you, Grekov?" she asked the Russian.

  He shrugged, not understanding. Katy repeated the question in Russian. The tough guy turned red, waved his hand like he was shooing a gnat, and clutched the steering wheel again.

  Katy laughed. "Okay," she said, turning back to Brook. "Relax. No gossip, no girl-talk. Just mummies, W-W two, and dead Pharaohs."

  Brook shot Katy another look. Nobody mentioned Pharaohs!

  It was Katy's turn to put her hands up. "My mistake," she whispered.

  When they arrived at the site, Brook could see the European diggers were already hard at work, guarded by a squad of armed men. The bus they came in on was parked near the pop-up canopy they constructed every day for water-breaks, relief from the heat, the midday meal, and brief conferences.

  Brook headed for the dig, but Ali called her back and convened a meeting between Brook, Katy, Tom and himself. "I've got something to tell you," he said, checking to be sure Rabbit, Grekov and everyone else were out of earshot. Katy fished out her camera. Ali started to tell her to put it away, then relented: "Okay, okay."

  Brook made a mental note of that, not sure quite what it meant. She also wondered why Tom was included. What had they talked about in the SUV that made him suddenly "one of the team?" She suspected it was merely his white American skin and affluent manner.

  "Okay, here's the situation," Ali began, his anxiety headed northward at breakneck speed. He looked to Brook. "Remember when I told you I thought I'd found a burial ground?"

  "This isn't a burial ground," Brook stated simply.

  "I know!” Ali shot back with irritation. "I know." They waited. Katy filmed Ali wiping his brow with his handkerchief, though the real heat of the day hadn't yet begun.

  "But the burial ground is here," Ali said, lowering his voice and covering his mouth a little, the way ballplayers talk to each other on the mound.

  Are there lip-readers afoot? Brook asked herself, rolling her eyes

  "Over there, about five hundred yards away." Ali went on, flicking his eyes to the east, "I don't know if it's coincidence, or if the Nazis just found the same trade route two thousand years later, but right over there..." The audience moved in closer as Ali built to a climax, "...are bodies. And wagons, the skeletons of horses, armor, and helmets. Not World War Two. Roman."

  Brook gasped, unable to help herself.

  Ali grinned, thrilled at her reaction, as Katy swung the camera between Ali and Brook, catching the moment between them no matter how much it might have hurt her personally. Tom, too, marveled.

  "You think?" Brook asked, unable to finish her sentence but daring to hope.

  Ali shrugged with a laugh, his eyes glistening as though he might cry at any minute.

  "Think what?" Tom asked. Nobody answered. "Think what?" he tried again. Still, nobody was prepared to say, but the moment had been broken.

  "So," Ali stated, back to business. "What's going to happen is this..." Ali pushed Katy's camera down, then took it from her and made sure it was off. He pulled a Nazi belt buckle from his pocket—a skull and crossbones in relief surrounded by the "Gott mit uns" insignia ("God with us")—the type that retailed for $100 plus free shipping anywhere on the internet, and was possibly a fake, Ali didn't care. "You..." He indicated to Katy. "...and Tom are going to go over to the dig and start to work. Brook and I will go the other direction, as if taking a stroll, discussing things, perhaps having a personal conversation. I will kneel like I just discovered this..." Ali showed the buckle again, "and then when we return Brook and I will begin organizing a second unit to mark off and survey that area over there, with designs on digging. The thing is," Ali concluded, "the Roman stuff stays among us and the three diggers I'm going to pick. The material stays separate. I have boxes for that, and it goes back to the hotel in the bus every night, at least temporarily."

  All nodded as if they understood, though it was clear none of them did. They could see Ali had a plan, and was clearly in charge—that was good enough.

  "Okay, let's do this thing," he said, leading Brook off in the direction he'd indicated.

  Katy took Tom's hand and led him to the dig. She showed him the tools of the trade—spades, knives, brushes, tags, notebooks, and pens—and taught him the rudiments of digging.

  Brook kept her eyes to the ground as she and Ali walked across the sand.

  "I apologize for not including you in the loop from the beginning," he said. "That's right, isn't it? The loop? That's English?"

  "Yes, very good English," Brook said. She felt like forgiving him, telling him she understood the need for secrecy, and that it was okay, but she also felt like screaming at him. How dare he not tell her before! How dare he make decisions for her! That's why she'd never be his—didn't he see that? From that first date, when he ordered for her under the pretext he understood the local cuisine and she didn't! Despite herself, she couldn’t bite her tongue any longer. "You always have to be in control, don't you, Ali?"

  Ali stopped cold. "That's not true, BB," he protested, voice catching.

  "Don't call me that," Brook stated firmly. She turned and walked away.

  "Wait," Ali called, reaching out.

  "No, I won't wait."

  "This is far enough. We've come far enough."

  Brook turned back. What's he talking about?

  "The dig. This is where we should dig first. Around here."

  Reluctantly, Brook walked back to Ali.

  "I don't know what you want, Brook," he said sincerely. "I never did. I wanted to give you what you wanted, but I had no idea what. The only thing I knew you wanted was Cleopatra and Antony. So I've been spending days, years, just trying to give them to you."

  Brook stood stunned and speechless. "Thank you, Ali," was all she could think to say.

  Ali looked down, unable to control himself, yet unable to look into Brook's eyes. He squatted down like a boxer punched hard in the face but refusing to hit the mat no matter how hopeless his chances. Slowly, Ali reached into his jeans and pulled out the tin buckle with the Nazi insignia. He rubbed it in the dirt a little and stood. "Are they watching?" Ali asked.

  Brook glanced beyond him. "Yes. They're curious, but not suspicious."

  "I hinted you and I had a prior relationship," Ali confessed to Brook. "It was all I could think of..."

  Brook chuckled at Ali's discomfort. "It's okay, Ali. You know, I never knew you were such a sneaky bastard."

  Startled, Ali eventually laughed. "Okay, let's see what kind of acting job we can do," he said.

  They hurried back to the main dig gesturing and calling to the others.

  "Over here," Ali called out. "We need some people digging over here." He pretended to pick out a couple of workers at random, including Katy and Tom. They all hurried across the way to mark out the new dig, take measurements, and start the process.

  Brook was so excited she could hardly contain herself.

  37

  The Dig Site

  Matrouh Governorate, Egypt

  From the ages of eight to fourteen, Brook rarely saw her father. He made brief stopovers in the States two or three times a year, week-long whirlwind affairs with much of the time spent with Brook's mother in the bedroom, and a little with Brook and her little brother. Mostly, Brook remembered his non-stop patter during these times; excited recounts of the civilizations he'd discovered, the walls and chambers and treasures; gold and riches from the northern plains of Turkey to the Andes in Peru. Both Brook and her mother found themselves thoroughly caught up in the excitement of having Cale home, as well as the thrill of his work and the energy he brought into their humble home in the suburbs of the nation's capital. He told stories—tall tales, it turned out—about the travels of the ancients from one end of the Earth to the other.

&
nbsp; If you believed the psychologists, Brook’s fascination with archaeology was inevitable. "I caught the bug," she'd say, but she also understood it was a way to get close to him, to be part of his life and the things he loved, even if he wasn't home physically.

  Carl, on the other hand, seemed to be more interested in the money—shiny objects, things that glowed. He liked the artifacts, the treasures, the auction house and the bidders. For Brook it was the stories that were of value—the lives behind the dead bodies, the people who made civilizations tick. She found family in kings, queens, Pharaohs, priests and peasants. Everything about ancient lives fascinated her, whether it was eking out a living or building monuments to the gods. It makes all the digging bearable, Brook thought to herself as she worked the new area Ali mapped out. This would be a deeper dig; the material they sought here would be buried under two thousand years of sand and dirt.

  Ali and a few others had made a preliminary foray into the brick-hard ground, and when Ali was sure no one was looking, he uncovered the wood-slats that covered the hole he had discovered earlier. Brook jumped in to help quickly. It was only waist-deep, but wide enough that she could squat and look down a dark trench running a hundred yards across the desert. She used her flashlight to illuminate the cavity. The trench didn't descend, it ran flat straight across.

  "A crude dig," Ali whispered, kneeling next to the hole. "But what I said is true. Just in this section we found parts of Roman soldiers, pieces of wagons, and their horses. They had the right dating, definitely Roman. A massacre, I think."

  "The lost patrol..." Brook managed, finding it hard to breathe.

  "It very well could be," Ali agreed. "You think they found what they were looking for before they died?"

  "That's the question, all right," Brook agreed. She looked up at Ali, used her hat to shade her eyes against the sun, and asked him straight out: "But we aren't sharing?"

  Ali sighed. "No, we're not sharing," he said. "Not yet. Let them have their war-toys. Let us have this."

  "We could have done all this yesterday, you know."