The Amun Chamber

by Daniel Leston

  From above came only silence.

  “Elizabeth!” he cried. “Answer me if you—”

  He caught a glimpse of movement, then squinted his eyes as a dark silhouette of a man’s head and shoulders now appeared at the opening.

  “So sorry, Manning, but I’m afraid that’s not possible at the moment. She’s hardly in any position to help extricate you from your rather amusing predicament.”

  Who in the hell—?

  David leaned back on the rope, angling for a better view. The mocking voice was strangely familiar, but the face remained no more than black outline against the bright sky overhead. Yet I know this man from somewhere!

  “Who are you?” he demanded to know. “What’ve you done to her?”

  “Finding it difficult to see, are you? Ah, yes, the light! Still, I must confess to being a bit disappointed you haven’t recognized me yet. But it’ll come to you eventually. Then again, you really don’t have all that much time left, do you? Perhaps a small clue is in order.”

  “Where is she, damn you! Tell me!”

  The man chuckled.

  “Well, if you really must know, the girl’s taken a nasty knock on the head. She’s still alive, mind you—at least for the time being, anyway.” He paused. “For just how long, I really can’t say. The last few days have been particularly grueling. It would be a shame for my friend and myself to deny ourselves the pleasure of her company until it actually becomes necessary. And quite a charming young lady she is! Why, it seems like only yesterday she and I sat and enjoyed a most pleasant—albeit brief—conversation in Salonika. Does this perhaps refresh your memory, Professor?”

  Now it came to him.

  “Sal—? Sal Oristano!”

  “Congratulations. A bit of a surprise, is it not?”

  “It was you behind all of this?” David’s mind raced. “Those killings? That Egyptian following our every move?”

  “And a most fascinating experience it all was. Too bad for you it has to end this way. There are always winners and losers, Manning. Today seems to be my day to prevail.”

  Salonika! Oh, God! Edith! David knew without asking that Sal was surely responsible for her death, as well. The knowledge sickened him. But he also knew his only possible hope was in keeping Oristano talking. Think! Stall for time!

  “You haven’t won yet,” he said. “You moved too soon, Sal, blowing any chance of getting your hands on anything! There’s no tomb down here. There’s nothing but—”

  “Old bones and rubble, right? The piled remains of workers and slaves. You see, I overheard almost everything you shouted up. An ancient dumpsite with only one way in or out. A mild disappointment, I admit, but really only a minor setback.”

  “Minor? You’re crazy if you think you don’t need us. You haven’t a prayer in hell of finding the tomb.”

  “Ah, now that’s where you’re wrong. But then you’ve been deceived by a good many things lately. I’ll win the prize, believe me. And as for you—” He shook his head. “What you fail to understand is that my rather large friend and I need no longer rely on your heroic efforts to locate it. In fact, we’ve got someone up here who knows precisely where it’s hidden—and always has known! Getting him to reveal this knowledge is only a matter of applying the right persuasive techniques. And since my friend is somewhat of an expert in this field, I foresee no problems.” He paused only long enough to light a cigarette; then said, “I refer, of course, to none other than your companion Dr. Gobeir. Does this also surprise you?”

  “Lewis? Christ, you really are insane!”

  “Sort of makes you look like a complete fool, doesn’t it? But it’s all quite true, I assure you. You’ve played into his hands from the day you arrived in Egypt. You and the girl were just too caught up in the hunt to realize it. Want some proof?”

  David only stared up at him.

  “Oh, come now, Manning, is this really so difficult to accept? Think back for a moment. Consider all the events, all the many little discoveries and breakthroughs that eventually led you to Yousef Mehra. Can you think of even one that didn’t originate with you—one that came solely through the efforts of Gobeir or Rashidi?” He waited. “No, I suspect not. All in all, a rather remarkable deception on their part. They even had me fooled for a time. They were very clever, even down to the elaborate trap they arranged at the entrance of this godforsaken valley.”

  “Trap—? What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Ah, yes, something else you didn’t know about. Four of them, there were. I examined their campsite. Interestingly enough, they were already in position a full day before you arrived. Yet you weren’t interfered with, were you? That’s because their purpose was to ambush and kill whoever tried to enter after your group passed through. Too bad we had to go and spoil everything for them.”

  “You’re babbling, Sal. Talking nonsense!”

  “Am I, Professor? Then ask yourself this; except for you and the girl, who else but Gobeir and Rashidi knew anyone was following you? No, it was Gobeir, all right. But you believe whatever you like. It’s no longer of any consequence to me one way or the other.”

  Oristano drew a knife, holding it for David to see. “A small souvenir from one of those men,” he said. “I suppose I could simply shoot you before sealing this back up, but I’ve a far more interesting fate in store for you. One I think more appropriate to your profession—and infinitely more satisfying to me.”

  He put the knife to the rope, slicing deep into the fibers.

  “Should you survive the fall—which I sincerely hope you do—use what time remains to you to ponder all your many errors. And just think; perhaps in another thousand years, or so, it might well be your bones some enterprising archaeologist stumbles upon. You were an interesting adversary, but I fear you were overmatched from the start. In the final analysis, I’m sure you’ll agree my winning was quite inevitable.”

  “Wait!”

  “It’s all over, Manning. Accept it.”

  The strained rope severed with a snapping twang, and he saw Oristano’s grinning face race upwards as he plunged.

  * * *

  David awoke into a strange, cold limbo of darkness, somehow feeling as if he was lying naked on a tilted bed of busted glass. Too, there was a faint, plaintive sound emanating out of the surrounding black void. Someone moaning? He listened without moving, unsure if he was conscious or dreaming. It was the persistent ache in his back and limbs that finally convinced him it was no dream.

  Again the weak moan . . . tremulous, almost disembodied.

  Ahmed?

  Now he remembered; the shooting, the grinning Oristano, the jarring fall.

  Oh, God—those madmen have Elizabeth!

  His level of pain rose as he sat up. The mild nausea he felt was explainable by the swollen knot he found above his right ear. He inhaled deeply, fighting to regain control. Was this the extent of his injuries? He moved both his legs—tentative at first—then his arms, flexing and straightening. The sticky patches on his shirtsleeves and pants hurt to the touch, but weren’t in themselves debilitating; just minor cuts and abrasions. Thankfully, no broken bones. The sloping edge of the rubble must’ve absorbed the brunt of his fall. But how long ago was that? An hour—two—or was it mere minutes?

  He was surprised to discover his lighter still inside his shirt pocket. The small, bright flame momentarily hurt his eyes as he brought it close to his wristwatch. Damn! The dial told him nothing. The crystal face was shattered, the hands frozen at eight minutes past two o’clock.

  He struggled to his feet, holding the lighter high to get his bearings. It rapidly overheated in his hand, yet without it he was effectively blind. The butane wouldn’t last much longer. What he desperately needed was the—

  There! Not five feet away!

  Scrambling to the fallen flashlight, he snatched it up, amazed it had survived in better condition than he dared hope. The glass was cracked, the plastic housing sprung; but it worked when he snappe
d it on,

  He swung the beam around, locating Ahmed lying fifteen feet lower at the furthest extreme of the rubble floor. In a macabre sense, he wasn’t alone. Scattered around him were the fragmented skeletons of several long-dead slaves, nameless souls who had taken the exact some plunge uncounted centuries before.

  Still unconscious, the younger man appeared next to dead when he gently eased him onto his back. Unlike David, he’d landed headfirst onto the steep face of the cone—and the predictable damage to his upper body was grotesque to see. The most conspicuous was a deep diagonal cut running from his brow to his chin, slicing away most of one eyebrow. Since the worst of the bleeding had ceased, he left the congealed smear untouched. Of far more concern was the ugly gash on the crown of his head, for any damage to the skull was potentially life threatening. Here the blood had likewise stopped flowing, but a careful look under the eyelids revealed the left pupil to be abnormally dilated. Not a positive sign. At minimum, a concussion.

  David ripped open the tattered shirt, exposing the chest and right arm. Oristano’s aim had been off. The small caliber bullet had struck high in the shoulder, shattering the collarbone and deflecting upward. With no visible exit wound, the slug was likely lodged in the surrounding muscle tissue. A cautious squeezing of the entire limb from shoulder to wrist indicated no obvious fractures. Another moan, louder this time.

  Rashidi was beginning to come around.

  Stripping off his shirt, he fit and tied both sleeves up behind the neck, then draped the rest across the chest to form a makeshift sling. He wanted to complete the next procedure before Rashidi awoke, but this wasn’t to be. As he carefully lifted and positioned the slack arm, the pain of this movement hastened a return to consciousness. He groaned, clenching his teeth as David finishing the procedure.

  “Just lay easy, Ahmed. It’s going to be okay.”

  “Is—is that you, Ibrahim?” A convulsive fit of coughing distended a vein in his neck. “Wh—where have you—you—”

  Ibrahim?

  David stared at him for a long moment, Oristano’s parting words now coming back to him. Was it possible everything he told him was true? Surely the accusation was patently absurd. But what if it wasn’t? Why the hell would Oristano fabricate a lie about being ambushed?

  “It’s David,” he said aloud.

  “Who—?”

  “David,” he repeated. “David Manning.”

  “You, Professor?” He blinked rapidly, uncertainty on his face. “I—I don’t understand what—what—”

  “You’ve been shot. And you’ve taken a bad fall. Can you remember any of what happened?”

  “No, I—” Rashidi’s focus wavered. “I can’t seem to—to—”

  “Keep your eyes open, Ahmed. Stay awake! You’ve got a concussion. Do you understand me?”

  “So tired, drowsy—”

  “No! Keep talking to me. Focus! Try and concentrate. Elizabeth shouted at you, trying to warn you. Remember?”

  “Yes. I turned and I—I—”

  “And what?”

  “I’m so very tired. Just a few—”

  “No, dammit! Keep talking! After you turned, then what? Tell me!”

  Rashidi’s breathing was less shallow, his face more alert. “I grabbed for the revolver,” he said, his voice stronger. “But it was already too late.”

  David helped him sit up.

  “That’s better,” he encouraged. “Tell me what you saw.”

  “A man. He was standing beside the jeep, aiming at me. After that, nothing . . .”

  David’s suspicion still lingered. If he was to trick Rashidi into saying something unintended, then it must be done now while he was still disorientated. “The one who shot you is a man named Oristano.”

  “You know him?”

  “He and his oversized companion have been following us since Salonika. He told me as much before he cut the rope. They killed Ibrahim and the others. They’re keeping Lewis and Elizabeth alive for a time, but you and I were both expendable.”

  Rashidi was blinking again, trying to grasp what was being said.

  “Then they’re both still alive, you say?”

  “Not for long,” he replied. He sat back on his heels, angling the flashlight to better watch Rashidi’s confused eyes. A cold, sick feeling invaded his gut, for he now saw a deceptive mask where none had existed before. “Oristano and his knife-happy friend are torturing Lewis, trying to force him into revealing the tomb’s location.”

  “What—?” Rashidi blanched. “That—that’s insane!”

  “Is it, Ahmed?” He saw genuine shock register in his eyes—but absolutely no trace of bewilderment. He felt his anger rising. So it really was true! “Tell me about this Ibrahim?”

  “Who?”

  “Ibrahim. You know, one of the four ambushers at the valley entrance.”

  “But how did—?” Rashidi swallowed, obviously realizing his error. His façade began to crumble. “I—I don’t know an Ibrahim. You’re putting words in—”

  “The game’s over, Ahmed,” David said, getting to his feet. His fist clenched as he kept the beam on the younger man’s paling features. “If I had the time, I’d gladly kill you myself, you lying bastard! And to think I fell for it! You and Lewis had all this worked out from day one, didn’t you? So tell me. Who were Ibrahim and his friends scheduled to kill last when this whole charade was over? Elizabeth and me? That’s how it was all supposed to play out, right?”

  “No, I—”

  “Liar! You and Lewis knew about this valley all along, didn’t you? Now all your fucking lies have backfired on you, big time. Your dead friends out there really messed up bad, Ahmed. You and Lewis didn’t plan all this quite as smart as you thought! So why not just admit the damn truth?”

  This time Rashidi made no attempt to respond. Instead, he only averted his face from the intrusive light.

  David shook his head in disgust, knowing this was getting him nowhere. He turned away and began climbing back up the cone’s slope. Time was fast running out for Elizabeth. With or without Rashidi’s help, he had to escape this hellhole—or die trying!

  Brave words from a man already buried alive!

  He returned to where he’d fallen, there playing the flashlight around the dome’s high ceiling. Nothing he saw offered the least bit of hope. A spider would have trouble scaling those featureless walls. And even if it was reachable, there remained the impasse of the stone slab. From the underside, nothing short of a stick of dynamite was needed!

  He retrieved the cut section of rope, coiling it into a tight circle. Ten, maybe twelve feet. Not much to work with, yet it might prove useful. But how? All that remained was the cavern floor. Was it possible he missed something when he was suspended from above? A side cave, or maybe an unseen opening in the smooth wall?

  Anything!

  Before starting his exploration, he flicked the beam back towards Rashidi, assuring himself the younger man hadn’t slipped back into unconsciousness. As before, he sat cradling his arm, seemingly withdrawn into a mute and despairing world of his own creation.

  “Not yet ready to talk, Ahmed?”

  David worked his way downward and to his right, sweeping the light in front of him. The fluid-like surface of the sloping cone flattened out near the bottom, yet walking remained tricky. Despite two millennia of undisturbed settling, the conglomerate of limestone chips and broken rock was still somewhat fluid and unstable.

  Aloud, he said, “You know, I have to commend the acting job you two pulled off. Very convincing. I can only think of one instance where Lewis almost gave it away.” Now again at the base of the cone, he saw the debris abutted solidly against the cavern’s perimeter, leaving no hint as to the chamber’s true depth. Disappointed he walked on, steadying himself on the cool wall. “Want to know when this was, Ahmed?”

  Silence.

  “It was last night. He told Elizabeth he was with the Zuker expedition in the Faiyum, a little known dig sponsored by the Univer
sity of Michigan. That’s my old alma mater, so I’m fairly familiar with all their accomplishments. Guess what year it was?”

  Still nothing.

  “It was 1956. No big deal, except Lewis had early on made a specific point of saying he was in England furthering his education throughout that entire year. My mistake was in not calling him on the discrepancy. I let it pass, thinking he was just old and tired and confused. What else could I contribute it to, right? I mean, it’s not as if the charming, old fellow had any reason to lie about his whereabouts in ‘56, now is there? Hell, if I believed that, then I might even be crazy enough to suspect him of being involved in Lionel’s murder.”

  If the sarcasm had any effect, it wasn’t evident in Rashidi’s continued silence. Now roughly a third of the way around the massive pile of rubble, David found the elevation of debris to be somewhat higher, the chunks of stone noticeably larger. What, if anything, this meant, he wasn’t sure. Perhaps this part of the cavern was the first section filled. He moved on, still searching with the beam.

  “So how exactly did it all come about, Ahmed? The discovery, I mean. Who found it first? Elizabeth’s grandfather—or did Lewis beat him to it?” Again, he paused, expecting and receiving no reply. “Well, I guess it doesn’t matter at this point. The blanks are easy enough to fill in. What surprises me is there’s still anything left worth killing over. Let’s face it, over half a century of unhindered plundering is a damn long time, don’t you think? What’s taken so long to get the job done?”

  He detected a faint shifting of stones from Rashidi’s direction.

  Had he finally hit a nerve?

  “It’s kind of funny,” he continued, “how hindsight and a little knowledge gives an entirely different perspective on events. I recall how concerned Lewis was when he thought I’d told Omar Bayoumi about the gold disk. More like panic. Makes me wonder if Bayoumi would be alive today if I really had told him. Probably not, right? After all, what’s one more murder when weighed against keeping all this a secret?”