by Alex Archer
“Sure,” Matthew said. “One whole wall, nearly. But that’s it as far as I know. Doc’s been taking lots of pictures so he can work up the translations later. He’s translated the slabs up top. And he’s packed up all the portable relics and shipped them to his office for cataloging. Except the pieces we have on the tables under the tent. But those came from above, and most of them are broken.”
“What sort of relics? The ones taken from down here?” Annja meant to bring the conversation back around to the Arabs and the Korean, but her curiosity slipped out.
“Statues, vases, pots, all small,” Jon said. “But in remarkable condition just because they’ve been down here, and for the most part out of the wind and weather. There’s lots of stuff we found intact. So many other sites, here and in Egypt, you find only pieces.”
“The uni has a museum with Egyptian relics,” Matthew said. “It’ll get all the stuff recovered from here. Doc’ll get quite a feather in his hat.”
Jon made a huffing sound. “We’ll get credit, too.”
Matthew pointed to the ladder. “C’mon.”
“These Arabs,” Annja said. They paused at the huge cow-head altar. “Can you tell me anything more about them?”
“Well, they were only out here two times,” Jon said.
“Three,” Matthew corrected. “The one of them anyway was out here three times. Twice he was out here by himself, only talked to Doc and didn’t stay long. He was here yesterday, too. Never looked at a single piece on the table. He didn’t seem too interested—”
“Yeah, I remember,” Jon interrupted. “He’s the one with the scars. Gave Cindy the shivers the way he looked at her. He was the only one I heard talk. ’Course we keep pretty busy out here, and Doc and them guys, the grantors, they didn’t stick too close to us. Didn’t catch any of their names. You don’t think they’re the guys you fought on the spine?”
“The preserve ridge,” Matthew said to be more precise. “I doubt that any men Doc is involved with…”
“I don’t know if they’re the same men. But I think you’re in danger, too. Something one of the men on the ridge said indicates that,” Annja said. That everyone dies, she thought.
Matthew nodded to the rope ladder. “Ladies first.”
Annja flicked off the flashlight and sat it near the ladder. She started climbing, finding going up more painful than her trip down. Her side throbbed from where she’d been kicked in the ribs, and despite the makeshift wrap on her sprained ankle it burned when she put weight on it.
“I bet Doc doesn’t know those Arabs might be up to something,” Jon said. He started up when Annja passed the halfway mark. “He’s not going to be happy to hear it.”
“And he’s not going to be happy to find out you were prowling down here by yourself,” Matthew said.
“Pigs, I wasn’t prowling. And he doesn’t have to know.”
“Oh, he has to know,” Matthew returned. He flicked off his flashlight and crooked it under his right arm, using his left to help him climb. “And I’m going to relish telling him.”
Annja breathed deep when her head cleared the crevice. The stink of the dead fish and the burial chamber still clung to her nostrils. She heaved herself out, noticing there were lanterns glowing in two of the tents now.
Jon was out quickly behind her, then on his feet and jogging toward the dark tent. Annja stood, hands on her hips, scanning the area, still concerned there might be more of the thugs around. “How many men did Dr. Hamam have out here who weren’t part of the university?”
Matthew answered as he climbed out of the crevice. “Just the three. No, four with the Korean.”
“And one of them was the scarred man?”
Matthew nodded, and then realized Annja couldn’t see him. “Yeah. Looked like he’d been in a fire and that part of his skin had melted. Not right to judge by appearance and all, but he was creepy looking.”
Arabs and a Korean, and the Arab on the ridge proficient in Muay Thai. Such an interesting mix, Annja mused. Which one of the men who’d been in the camp was the “master,” as the men she’d killed had referred to him?
“Was one of them in charge?”
Matthew stepped past her, shrugging. “Grants are nice and all, but not my business. I’m just a graduate assistant. I really didn’t pay much attention to them.” He looked over his shoulder to make sure she was following. “I’m gonna roust the others for you.” He started toward the tents again, and then stopped, his shoulders sagging. He turned.
“Look, Ms. Creed, I’ve seen you a couple of times. Chasing History’s Monsters isn’t exactly serious programming, you know. I’m pleased to meet you, though not under these circumstances. I’m not sure I believe all of your story, but I’ll err on the cautious side and gather my mates here. I’m responsible for them, you know. At least when Doc’s not around. And I don’t want any Arabs shooting at them—or at me. This is just a little weird, you have to understand. No, it’s a lot weird. Only thing that makes me think you’re right with me is that you look like hell.” He opened his mouth as if to say something else, then closed it and shook his head. He turned back toward the tents, angling toward the tent where Annja had seen the two lovers.
A lantern was lit now in the third tent, the one Jon shared with one or two other students. Two students, Annja confirmed, noting the silhouettes. She saw Jon gesture wildly, his form easy to pick out because of the bushy hair.
“This has been a long day,” she said, following Matthew, but letting the distance grow between them. “I look like hell? I feel like hell.” But despite the master’s orders to have me killed, I’m still breathing.
Matthew poked his head in the tent, and a quick and heated exchange ensued. Next, he went to the other tent, shaking the canvas and hollering, “Get up and get dressed.” Then he joined Annja, crossing his arms and sticking his hands in his armpits. No shadows reached her and he could well see her in the moonlight. “Nice jacket, Ms. Creed. I’ve never been to the place myself. Not my sort of entertainment. But if I had, I don’t think I would’ve advertised the fact by wearing…”
“Matthew!” Jon had emerged from his tent, two men following him, both of them in sweatpants and T-shirts, and both grumbling about being woken. “I used the sat phone and called Doc.” He jogged toward Annja and Matthew, holding the phone out in front of him.
Matthew raised a scolding finger.
“I only talked a minute. I know the limits. I told him Annja Creed was here and that some men had tried to kill her. Told him that—”
“It was my place to call, Jon,” Matthew said.
Jon gave him a lopsided grin. “I know. But I had the phone in my tent. I guess I’d forgotten to put it back. Anyway, Doc was all excited that Annja Creed is here.” He moved close to Matthew and whispered, but his voice was loud enough that Annja could hear. “Doc said we should keep her here, come up with some reason. He said he’s gonna send someone out.”
“Wonderful,” Annja muttered. To Matthew she said, “You’re the boss here, right? Get them dressed—better dressed—in a hurry. We’re getting out of here. And bring that phone. We’re going to need it.”
Matthew’s perturbed expression melted into one of concern. He looked a little pale in the moonlight.
17
Annja led the seven graduate students over the ridge, picking a spot that looked reasonably easy to climb, still staying away from the path the students usually took when visiting the other site. She figured if she was going to run into anyone dangerous, it would be on the path, and so it was to be avoided. Also, climbing made the students work and for the most part forced them to keep their mouths shut.
In the several minutes it had taken to muster them she’d had to deal with questions piled on top of questions.
“What’s Annja Creed the famous archaeologist doing out here?”
“Ninjas? There were ninjas shooting at her?”
“Are we going to be on television?” This came from Cindy.
> “Is Doc involved?”
Then there were the mutterings of disbelief, suggestions that this was all some ruse to get them away from their dig site and their precious find that hadn’t been reported yet and would make them all famous.
“Doc’s gonna spit the dummy over this.”
“Yeah, you just don’t lob in on our place and tell us we’ve gotta leave.”
“Who does she think she is anyway?” This came from Jeff, the one student who’d never seen an episode of Chasing History’s Monsters.
Annja offered only a few replies, letting Matthew order them around. She thought he was enjoying his authority, despite the predicament she’d put him in.
“If this all turns out to be nothing,” he cautioned her. “If Doc isn’t involved—”
“Then I’ll be grateful, and you’ll all be safe,” Annja interrupted.
She adopted a fast pace and the students had to work hard to keep up. When she crested the ridge she saw lights on in all of the tents and people moving around. She knew there were a dozen people to account for at the Michaels dig, including the two security guards and Dari.
Faint sounds came to her: a murmur, which must be the archaeologists chattering; a dog barking, perhaps a dingo loose in the preserve; the breeze gusting and rustling the leaves on the trees beyond the site. She also heard the students behind her grabbing this or that rock, their shoes pushing scree down the other side.
“We’re going here only for safety in numbers, right?” Matthew joined her at the top of the ridge, looking down at Dr. Michaels’s camp.
Annja nodded.
“Then Dr. Michaels doesn’t need to know about the temple to Hathor we found,” he said.
“It’s not my place to tell him,” Annja admitted. “But I don’t care much for secrets.” Except the ones I’m forced to keep, she thought.
The trek down was relatively easy, the moon revealing a course that wasn’t terribly steep and had few granite upthrusts. She’d spotted no dark-clad men on the ridge or down below in the camp, but the moonlight didn’t keep all the shadows at bay, and so she remained on guard.
Several minutes later they were in front of Dr. Michaels’s tent. The other archaeologists had pulled out extra folding chairs and mats so everyone had something to sit on. Annja took a head count while Jennifer welcomed the students.
“Where’s Dari?” she asked after she double-checked her number.
Wes looked worried. “He left right after you did. We told him we could well take care of ourselves, and he was concerned about you traipsing off on your own. I thought he’d caught up to you.”
Annja couldn’t suppress a groan. Now she’d have to go looking for him—finding one man in this preserve at night might be like looking for that proverbial needle in a haystack. She just hoped she wouldn’t find his body and that the men who’d attacked her hadn’t first gotten to him.
“Perhaps we could form search parties,” Jennifer suggested. “We could—”
“Not a good idea.” This came from Matthew, the only student who hadn’t accepted one of the offered seats. He rocked back and forth on his heels and looked from the archaeologists to the ridge to Jon. “We’re going to have company. This dill here called Dr. Hamam, and he’s sending someone out for Ms. Creed. She thinks we might be in danger.”
Dr. Michaels stroked his chin. “Are you really going looking for him, Annja? He’s a big boy. He can’t find you—he’ll come back.”
“If he’s able,” Annja said. “But I’ve got a very bad feeling about all of this.”
“It’s not my fault,” Jon told Cindy. He tried to keep his voice low, but it carried. “I called Doc ’cause he needed to know Annja Creed had come calling in the middle of the night. Doc’s got nothing to do with any ninjas with guns. This is Doc’s dig, and he had every right to know we had a visitor. A famous one.”
Cindy yawned and leaned into another one of the students. “It’s all kind of exciting,” she said. “But I’ll be bummed if nothing dangerous happens.”
Annja rolled her eyes and took visual stock of the site. Nineteen people were clustered around the tent, including herself. Only two of them—the security guards—had guns. Only the security guards looked wholly alert, though the students were perking up; the climb had helped enliven them. The coffee might help, too. Jennifer was passing out mugs and paper cups and pouring from a big pot.
“I’ve got more brewing,” she told them. “But this is for starters.”
Annja didn’t consider the camp very defensible. She could put them all in the woods and tell them to be quiet, but she doubted some of the students would cooperate. Someone would hear them out there. Best keep them there, with the security guards posted.
“Matthew, give Dr. Michaels the satellite phone.” The graduate assistant hesitated only a moment. “Call the police, whatever police services this place,” she ordered.
“And tell them what?” Wes took the phone and stared at it.
“That there’s ninjas with guns on the ridge,” Cindy snickered.
“That there could be trouble,” Annja said. “That there are two dead men on the ridge. That more men are coming.” She couldn’t help but glance Jon’s way. “Get the cops out here quick.” She told the students, “Stay here and stay close. Try to stay quiet—”
“Look, Miss Creed, I’m having a hard time swallowing all of this,” Wes said. “You’ve no reason to lie to me or make something up, but ninjas and guns.”
“Wes, I think I heard shooting a while back,” Jennifer said.
“That was somebody opening their lunch,” Wes joked. “I suppose there’s no harm in calling the authorities. We’ve not had them out here before.” He rubbed at his eyes and shook his head. “Just all of this is a little much to take in. But I’ll call. It’ll take them awhile to get here, you understand. We’re pretty much—”
“In the sticks, the boondocks,” Annja cut in. “I know. Just make the calls and keep it quiet so you can listen.”
“So we can hear if anyone’s coming,” Wes finished. “There’s an access road to the west that we take. Our cars are parked there. Anyone driving in would come that way.”
No, Annja thought, they could take the road where the painter dropped her and Dari off, come at the site through the trees.
“And there’s a road that comes in from the north,” Matthew said. “That’s the one we use. It snakes around the narrow part of the preserve ridge. But I bet we’ll not hear anybody drive on it…not from way over here.”
“Just keep your eyes and ears open,” Annja cautioned. “And start calling.” She nodded to Wes. She turned to Matthew. “And when I get back, I want you to tell me all about your Dr. Hamam.”
Wes Michaels was placing a second call by the time she’d jogged past the sifting tables. The moonlight made a stretch of mud slick and revealed a set of boot prints. They weren’t grooved, like the assassins’ boots.
“Dari,” she said. “And so I must rescue my knight in shining armor. This has been just a lovely, lovely day.”
Once more, Annja started up the ridge.
18
Dr. Gahiji Hamam put on a pair of white gloves and surveyed the relics on the table, which were illuminated by a flickering fluorescent light that hung directly above.
The gods that gathered together told Thoth who dwelled in Khemenu—that which comes from thy mouth will be called true.
Hamam had memorized passages from the Book of the Dead and enjoyed quoting his own translations of them while he worked.
The scribe whose word is true is righteous. He has not sinned or called evil upon us. Ammut the Devourer will not be allowed to prevail over him. We shall grant him meat offerings and admittance to the holy presence of Osiris.
There were dozens of small pieces—more on the table behind him. But for the moment, Hamam concentrated on these. He had recovered most of them from the underground temple to Hathor, which he suspected at one time sat atop the earth—at least a portion
of it.
If when coming to the Seven Arits he enters the doors, he shall not be turned back before Osiris. He shall be made blessed among the spirits and granted dominion among those ancestral followers of the great Osiris. He shall be like a lord of eternity, as one with Osiris. No one can contend against him.
Several pieces were jewelry, twisted strands of gold decorated with opals—valuable for their materials alone, but made much more so by their age and origin. The largest necklace had a fob hanging from it that was a piece of stone similar to turquoise, but it was a gem he wasn’t familiar with. He would have to consult a book or the Internet when he got back home; perhaps it was a stone mined locally rather than one brought from Egypt. The fob had a thin gold wire twisted around its top and bottom, affixing it to the much heavier gold chain. He found it striking and wondered who’d worn it.
The piece was not particularly feminine, and he’d not seen an indication that any Egyptian women had ever been there. So he guessed it was worn by the man who’d been in charge of this ancient expedition. Hamam fancied himself like that man—descended from Egyptian royalty, a leader, admired, an admirer and an appropriator of fine things. He ran his gloved finger across the stone. But unlike the ancient Egyptian who’d brought his kinsmen here, Hamam would be able to return home.
In passing the Pylons of the House of Osiris, the correct spell must be spoken before continuing.
Hamam searched his memory for the rest of his translation.
The great Osiris said you have come here, and you shall be favored Osiris Auf-ankh, who speaks truth, son of Shert-en-Menu, who is also truthful.
Hamam carefully wrapped the necklace, then another piece; this one was not so heavy, but was of equally expert craftsmanship. He concentrated on all the jewelry first, wrapping each piece with extreme care. The work kept his temper in check. He was upset that Annja Creed still lived—the most vital witness to his meeting with Sayed. He was upset that the men he’d hired through Sayed had not killed her. He’d hired nearly fifty, for various tasks he’d lined up—including slaying Annja Creed and now all the others out at the digs.