by JT Osbourne
The idea seemed to cheer Saa up a little. "Okay," he said. "We'll set up camp here, between the two trucks." With that, he drove around to the other side of the other truck and parked twenty yards away, leaving enough room for a couple of tents and a campfire, which they dared to build.
"This is nice," Tom commented after a decent meal of spaghetti and green beans.
"Yes, it is," Katy agreed. "Do you think she's right underneath us?" she asked Brook. The camera sat on an empty box—turned on, but Brook didn't mind.
"I don't know," Brook answered honestly. "I really don't know."
Tom and Brook had earlier checked the stars against Neferu's final star-map. It looked the same, but if they were a mile off, they might never find the tomb.
Saa looked at the sky too, but he was more worried about drones, heat-detecting missiles, and satellites. "If this person Strelov is as connected as you say he is," he commented, "he might have Russian Army on his side, with planes and drones that see at night, detect the heat of our bodies. Watch us from space."
Brook had the same worry. On the other hand, she'd heard of people getting lost in the deserts and mountains of the U.S., with hundreds of volunteers looking, along with fixed-wing aircraft, drones, you name it, and not being found until their remains were found months, even years, later.
***
Grekov left a man at each of the corners of the town while he and a half-dozen other technicians set up in a rented shop on the main street of Jaghbub. A couple of new men had shown up shortly after dark with laptops, spare batteries, and several thumb drives which filled Grekov with excitement. Immediately, the whole crew sat down to study the information on the drives.
Ali tried to see what they were doing, but was quickly rebuffed.
"We're getting the information you should have gotten straight from the horse's mouth," Grekov snarled.
"Is that from Brook's computer?" Ali asked, pointing at the screen.
"Get lost," Grekov told him, closing the laptop. "Go see a movie or something."
Ali grinned sourly. He stepped outside and took a walk, aware of the townspeople watching from their windows. He took out his satellite phone, reserved for just such an occasion.
"Hello?" came the answer halfway around the world.
"Mr. Manor?"
"Yes, Ali, what is it?" Raymond Manor replied.
"Your son has taken off."
"What do you mean?" asked the worried father. "Is he okay?"
"He and Brook Burlington took off and left the rest of us," Ali told him. "To get out of the Russians' sight."
"You think they found it?" Manor asked breathlessly.
"I'm sure they believe they know where it is."
"That's...that's incredible." Manor sighed. "I wish I could be there."
"Not a good idea," Ali told the older man.
"Don't forget who you're working for," Manor warned.
"Yeah, okay. I'm sorry about the pot," Ali told him.
"They got it safely to the museum?"
"They did."
"Then don't worry about it," Manor said. "Not important. What is important is—"
"I know, the mummies."
"And the treasure buried with the mummies."
"I understand."
"Just make sure that this time..." Manor rasped, getting worked up. "This time I get there before Strelov, and after, too."
"I understand."
"I don't care who has to bleed, or how much."
"Mr. Manor, I won't do that."
"Shut up," Manor said matter-of-factly. "You do what you love doing, I'll do what I love, okay?"
"Yessir."
"You'll get what you want out of this, believe me," Manor backed off.
"No, it's too late for that," Ali confessed.
"You're young," Manor offered. "There are other girls.”
"Uh-huh."
Ali had reached the end of town. Beyond, Rabbit sat in his SUV staring out into the night. He played with his cell-phone, which was useless out here for a phone call or internet connection, but good for a round of Tetris till the battery went dead.
"Gotta go," Ali whispered into his satellite phone, before hanging up, hiding it back in his pocket, and walking casually back to the center of town.
***
Brook couldn't sleep. The wind was one thing, but the satisfied smile on Katy's face was another. She lay across the tent, enjoying a sound sleep without a care in the world. Brook knew it was ridiculous, but she had a strong sense of foreboding. When disaster came, she wanted to see it coming before it hit. The tent blinded her, and claustrophobia started getting its hooks into her psyche.
Okay, she told herself. Here I go.
She dressed quickly, though she didn't think Katy would wake up for a freight train, let alone her movements. Slipping out of the tent, Brook was impressed by the darkness of the sky once again, and the number of stars, though a strong, intermittent wind—Khamsin—blew dust into the air, headed west. Brook knew this same dust—plus tons more—could blow much harder—5,000 miles in fact—to the Yucatan, and the Gulf Coast of Texas.
Again, Brook had a feeling—the same one she'd had weeks ago, that night in her office—that ghosts were nearby, asking for her attention.
"Rescue me," Cleopatra whispered into Brook's consciousness. "We've been here too long."
Brook shook the idea aside. "Okay, it's just you and me, ghosts," she whispered aloud.
Saa snored suddenly in the tent he shared with Tom. Brook jumped as he quieted, and she moved away from their tent. Tom had proven to be quite the Boy Scout, building a fire, putting the tents up, and cooking their supper. If they'd had a guitar, Brook was sure he'd have sung songs of longing and loss, work and play; beautiful and haunting.
Haunting...
And told ghost stories.
Ghosts...
As if in response, the wind died, revealing a single dust-devil whirling to the east, about a hundred yards off.
Woodburn's ghost, Brook couldn't help chuckling. Following you all the way here. She shivered, even though it wasn't that cold. Why do people think ghosts haunt places, she wondered, when they could just as easily haunt people? She wished she had Saqqara with her, though the dog had never shown much courage or inclination to protect her.
"In for a penny," Brook muttered, heading for the tiny whirlwind. If the fates, or some other muse were calling her, she'd be a fool not follow, believer or not. The vortex playfully danced away a little, came forward, and then took off eastward a few feet, enticing her. Brook headed that way, then stopped. She picked up one of the poles they'd brought to erect a sun canopy, reminding herself she was an archaeologist first, ghost-chaser second. As she headed out into the sand, she used it at random, just as Muller had described in his diary, pounding the pole into the sand at regular intervals, listening, feeling for something unexpected under the sand.
After a few hundred strikes with the pole, Brook felt a little silly. As she was about to give in, her pole clunked, then gave way. Stupidly, Brook smashed the pole again, harder this time. She fell, realizing her mistake, twelve feet straight down—screaming—landing on the stone staircase below. Too dark to see, but sensing it, she leaned back with all her strength, preventing her from plummeting down the stairs even further.
"Okay, breathe!" Brook told herself. Her voice came back to her a dozen times, revealing this was no ordinary hole in the ground, but a built space, with walls of stone—exactly what she'd been looking for.
With tears of joy rolling down her face, she found her flashlight; thankful she’d thought to bring it and her phone. She would worry about her safety later.
Brook clicked on the light.
She gasped, recognizing the place immediately. Even from this initial vantage point, Brook could see it was smaller than other Pharaohs’ tombs—no high, vaulted ceilings, and the passages were narrow—but the trappings of all that had been royal Egypt for over three thousand years were there: inscriptions
carved into the walls in this chamber, just the entryway to others where there would be furniture, sacred objects, and boxes of food and drink carefully packed for the long journey to infinity. Despite being built so far from the lifeblood of the civilization—the Nile, with its black, fertile soil—and the haste with which it must have been put together, this shrine—possibly the last to Osiris—was magnificent in Brook's eyes.
Wonderful things! This is what Howard Carter must have felt when he first came upon the sealed chamber of Tutankhamen, Brook couldn't help thinking. As she marveled at her discovery, the edge of the light from her flashlight caught the floor, where footprints were clearly visible—boots, large, a man's size...Muller!
Brook's euphoria smashed against reality. She thought of Icarus flying too close to the sun. She was the one doing it, not Strelov. Suddenly, the panic came. She screamed, and the echo was deafening this time, but the space above her remained unmoved, covered by sand blowing in. There was no way Tom, Saa, or Katy would hear her, even if they weren't all fast asleep. Brook found her phone, knowing that was useless, too—there was just too much earth between her and any satellite. Still, Brook dialed; trying all four numbers one after another. No luck.
She took stock. The flashlight was fully charged, and so was her phone. Her watch worked. She'd wait until her comrades were definitely awake before trying the phone again. She looked up. The ceiling was closed in with sand, and at least ten feet over her head. Perhaps she could dig, up the stairs, but who knew how long that would take? Her friends would find a way to find her, Brook hoped. There were instruments for finding hidden passages underground. Ali knew all about them—they would have to contact him. Underground radar scans—those were what started all this in the first place. But that took time; it would be too late. Already, the air felt thin and foul.
She surveyed the chamber, which was about the size of a storage locker. She knew from experience there would be exits to other rooms, perhaps hallways, all hidden, closed off from easy access. Brook crossed to the far wall, where there were fewer inscriptions. She ran her finger along the top. Plaster had been roughly applied to the upper edge—in haste, maybe, not by the original designer.
Or had someone raided this tomb already, then sealed it back up?
Brook let out a whimper. Had she come all this way, perhaps sacrificed her life, for something that had disappeared long, long ago?
Again, Brook felt ghosts nearby, a gentle breeze in this place where there could never be a breeze.
That was when she saw him: Muller, or what was left of him—a thing in a German uniform. Nothing decomposed here; Muller was no skeleton. His skin and organs were still intact,but all the liquid had evaporated, so his body resembled a leathery suit under the uniform, or a deflated balloon, bones protruding, teeth clinched in a horrifying grimace.
Brook didn't scream, no matter how horrified she was. Muller had died just a few yards from his goal: Cleopatra and Antony, and she knew of no reason why she wouldn't be next.
62
Istanbul, Turkey/The Appalachian Trail
"Did you warn the students?" Professor Green asked. He sat in Istanbul airport, waiting for the plane to Alexandria.
"They took a vacation," Professor Yeats answered, back at the university. "I warned them to stay off the radar, and they seemed to know what to do. Max and Jinjing are outdoorsy types, hikers—they're probably on a trail somewhere, more likely to get mauled by bears than tomb raiders."
"Good," Green replied. "If something happened to them..."
"I feel the same way myself," Yeats replied.
"How about you?" Green asked.
"We're traveling, the wife and kids and I. Pretty sudden, but we'll adjust. The kids love it—they've seen Indiana Jones and all."
Green chuckled politely. "I'll keep in touch," he said, and meant it.
"Roger."
Max and Jinjing woke up early to get a head-start on their next day's hike. They'd jumped on the Appalachian Trail at Harper's Ferry, something they'd been meaning to do for a year but never had the time. Since Professor Yeats' order had been to get lost—"really lost"—this seemed like a good time to do it. They hadn't had much time to prepare, but the guides all said the trail was well-marked and well-traveled, and they were experienced hikers.
"Who is that?" Jinjing wanted to know, pointing to the overweight man on the trail ahead of them in a bomber jacket, brown slacks, and dress shoes.
"Max? Jinjing?" the man called out with a slight European accent. He held up some sort of ID wallet, but they were too far away to read it, and he snapped it closed long before they had a chance. "I'm a friend of your uncle's, Max."
"I don't have an uncle," Max whispered to Jinjing.
63
Near Jaghbub, Libya
It was useless. The thumb-drives Grekov had received revealed all sorts of information about Brook's excruciatingly humdrum life and work, but no hint as to where she was at that moment. If she had communicated that information with anyone, it didn't appear on her office computer. The coordinates the astronomy professor had given were also useless, leading to a spot out in the Atlantic Ocean somewhere.
Just when Grekov was deciding whether to continue in the direction they'd been going, further into Libya, or split up and head out in four different directions, his phone lit up.
He received a latitude and longitude not far away.
"Okay, men, pack it up!" Grekov shouted with glee.
***
Brook had no idea how long her air would last. She was certain it wasn't long. She would die here, her friends right over head, with no idea where to look. The next chamber, the one with the mummies and the treasure she so badly wanted to verify before her death, was denied to her. As Brook turned her flashlight to the stairs, and the impossible wall of sand and dirt blocking the way up, her light caught a small alcove against the back wall.
"There you are," Brook stated plaintively, the tears rolling down her cheeks. "Neferu..."
***
Saa was the first to wake, near daybreak. He got the fire going again and was in the process of making eggs, ham, toast and coffee when Tom emerged from the tent.
"Sleep well?" Saa asked.
"Like a log," Tom answered.
Katy appeared soon after. "Where's Brook?" she asked.
The men looked at each other, then out at the landscape, a hundred miles of flat nothingness as far as the eye could see. Saa checked the vehicles.
"She was in the tent with you," Saa stated. All three had to check before they were satisfied.
They started screaming Brook's name. There was no answer, and strangely, no echo. It was as if their voices had been swallowed into the same vortex as Brook herself.
Katy went into her tent and retrieved the satellite phone Brook had given her. "I'm calling the emergency number—"
"No," Tom insisted. "She's here somewhere. We just have to look. Maybe she's a sleepwalker. Maybe she's going to the bathroom somewhere."
Again, they shouted Brook's name to the four corners of the Earth. They checked both tents, and under the trucks.
"Okay," Tom said, taking charge, and pointing to Katy. "You go that way a hundred paces, I'll go that way, and you over there."
They split up, headed three different ways, each shouting Brook's name. Katy shot the event with her camera, as though unsure anyone would believe they'd lost her.
"Is she a sleep-walker?" Saa asked Katy when they met back in camp.
"I don't think so," Katy replied. Both she and Saa looked to Tom. He held his hands up in innocence—he didn't know either.
"We need to take the two trucks and drive around. If she's walking somewhere..." Tom tried, but even as he said it, he knew it sounded ridiculous. "We need a helicopter."
"Okay, I'm calling." Katy said, putting down her camera and pulling out her satellite phone.
"No!" Tom insisted.
"Sorry, I'm calling." Katy turned on the phone.
"No," Tom
repeated, grabbing the phone, but not entirely jerking it out of her hand.
"Let go," Katy hissed.
"A helicopter is coming already," he said.
"What?" both Saa and Katy asked simultaneously.
"I said a helicopter is coming already. It'll be here soon."
Saa and Katy looked at Tom like he was nuts, and at that moment he truly did look insane. He jerked the phone from Katy's hand—
"Now you wait a minute—" Saa started to say, but stopped when he saw what Tom had in his other hand: a silver pistol aimed at Saa's belly.
"Stay back," Tom warned. "Both of you. I called for help already. There's no need to call anyone else."
"What is this about?" Saa demanded. "Where is Miss Brook?"
"What did you do you her?" Katy squealed.
"I didn't do anything to her!" Tom protested. "I have no more idea where she is than you do."
"Then why are you acting this way?"
Saa glanced at the nearest truck, gauging the distance.
"Move—that way!" Tom commanded, signaling Katy and Saa away from both trucks, the tents, and the fire.
Katy's hand itched to raise the camera hanging at her side and record the look of sheer panic and madness on Tom's face. She left the camera where it was, but pressed the button—at least she'd have audio.
"Why are you doing this?" she demanded. "I don't understand."
"Back up! Just back up!" Tom screamed. "I'm not going to tell you! This isn't some damn movie, okay! I don't have to tell you."
"We thought..." Katy said softly, genuinely hurt.
"You thought we were friends?" Tom laughed. "Did you not realize that Ali was playing you the entire time? Manipulating the dig site? Pretending to be interested in you? Wasn't it obvious he was working for my father?"