by Mary Deal
“This whole paranormal thing baffles me,” Bebe said. “Can we run through it again to help me understand?”
Kendra eagerly picked up the momentum and described how Chione first had a dream about mournful sounds connected to a tomb in Egypt. Chione had not told Dr. Withers, but told his wife, Marlowe, who later related it to him. Dr. Withers thought nothing of it. About the same time, Clifford heard from a friend at the Madu Museum in Cairo relating that a grave robber looking for tombs to plunder heard a sound like whimpering near some mastabas.
“Coincidence,” Randy said, drumming his fingers against the backrest of a chair.
“Lucky for us,” Clifford said. “The grave robber claiming the necropolis was haunted scared people out of the area.”
“Gimme a break,” Randy said.
Clifford continued, saying the people from the Antiquities Society of Egypt thought something had shifted or been unearthed which caused the sounds to be made by the wind. His friend at Antiquities knew he was looking to organize some work in Egypt and suggested the Institute send an exploratory team. “Which we did,” Clifford said. “But I, myself, hadn't heard about Chione's dream. And I didn't tell our illustrious leader about the mournful sounds, only about the possibility of a new dig site.”
Clifford helped himself to a drinking glass and bottle of water kept cool in a small tub on the credenza against the wall. He poured himself a drink but passed the water to Bebe holding out her hand. Chione produced her pocket flask and poured a drink of Egyptian Karkade, a scarlet tea made from the hibiscus flower, which could be drunk hot or cold.
Aaron explained that after Dr. Withers sent the exploratory team, Chione told Marlowe of her second dream about a guy stumbling over a block and falling into a hole that led to finding a tomb. A few days later, Clifford heard that one of the men on the exploratory team stumbled over a block and fell into a hole. “When Dr. Withers was told—confirming Chione's dream that none of us had heard,” Aaron said, “Dr. Withers and Ginny rushed here to Egypt to be with the exploratory team.”
“Ginny McLain got to see before any of us?” Randy asked.
“She's our photographer,” Clifford said, smiling his most ridiculous grin, as if sticking a pin into Randy's inflated self-worth.
“I'm glad Dr. Withers was present when they discovered the entrance,” Kendra said. “He himself was down on knees in that hole scraping away rubble with his bare hands.”
Bebe listened intently. “As I understand it,” she said. “Chione knew none of the details happening at the site, or even about an exploratory team being sent.”
Randy sighed pathetically and looked out a window. “We'd have found the tomb without Chione's dreams. If she's such a great seer, why does she need any of us?”
Again, Chione only rolled her eyes at the others and caught a glimpse of Aaron hurting for her. Someone would surely comment so she decided to withhold and simply watch the fireworks.
“If Chione's senses are so keenly honed that she dreams what we're about,” Kendra said in her no-nonsense way. “It's we who need her.”
“She's obsessed with things Egyptian,” Randy said, flagging a hand as if he could not be bothered. “She kept her lunch under that shiny black diorite pyramid on her office credenza instead of in the fridge like the rest of us.”
“If I remember correctly,” Clifford said. “You used to store your lunch with hers when she interned with you.”
Randy smiled sheepishly. “It was novel.”
“Sure it was,” Kendra said. “But you claimed the mayonnaise in your sandwich never melted and that your salad stayed crisp.”
“The salad wasn't cold, though.”
“I wouldn't take pyramid power lightly,” Bebe said, surprising everyone. “Truth is, weren't all our knife edges keenly honed when Chione brought in her glass pyramid and demonstrated its effect?”
“That convinced me,” Clifford said. Good hearted Clifford would give anyone the benefit of the doubt.
“Aaron changed when he met you,” Randy said, turning and finally addressing her directly. “And the birthday party for Rita. Were you trying to cast spells with that party you threw for Clifford's wife? Even your tiny place is cluttered Egyptian.”
“I'm Egyptian,” Chione said, though she wasn't born Egyptian.
“Egypt appeals to her, Randy,” Kendra said quickly. “She grew up with Egyptian history and culture—”
“Because her mother loved Egypt and gave her an Egyptian name that means Daughter of the Nile,” Randy said. “How is it that American woman adopts an American child who grows up looking like Nefertiti's sister? Chione even uses her stepfather's name.”
“Chione Grant Ini-Herit,” Bebe said, enunciating. “She's never given up her first father's name.”
By now, Kendra and Bebe had moved to stand beside her, opposite Randy on the other side of the conference table. She was beginning to feel claustrophobic. She did not need anyone standing up for her and would have to do something about Randy, and soon. He was getting out of hand.
“At least she claims her roots,” Kendra said, pointedly reminding Randy how he openly blamed his shortcomings on a domineering mother.
“Chione wishes she were Egyptian,” Randy said. “Heaven knows if she could have a baby, it would probably look like that heretic Akhenaten.”
Aaron slammed a scratchpad onto the tabletop. “Wrong again, Randolph. Chione's too beautiful. The child would probably more resemble Nefertiti or even King Tut. Certainly not your mentor.”
“That's right,” Randy said. “It's been said you resemble the Boy King.”
Aaron lunged, clutched Randy's shirtfront and drew back a fist.
Clifford grabbed Aaron's wrist. “Enough!” he said as he stepped in between. “Here comes Sterling.”
2
Dr. Withers walked through the doorway in a huff. His average build was slightly stooped. His suit jacket flapped open at his sides. “Good morning, everyone,” he said in a voice that took command and stopped cold anything that might be going on. He dropped his briefcase onto the tabletop and motioned for Chione to sit in the seat closest to him. Then he took his seat opposite Aaron at the other end of the long table.
No one spoke. They waited eagerly to hear about the excavation site. Due to flight delays and other snafus, he had not had time to deliver a final briefing before the team departed to Egypt. Dr. Withers pulled at his mustache and made eye contact with each person over bifocals. He took a good look at Randy who sat sweating profusely. Aaron glared at Randy and gritted his teeth as the muscles in his jowls tightened.
“Aaron,” Dr. Withers said suddenly. “Give me a recap of things on your end.”
Aaron flipped through a few sheets of his notepad. The margins of the pages were covered with random crosshatches. When had the articulate Aaron Ashby begun the messy habit of doodling? “Only a recap?” he asked.
“That's all I've got time for. I want to hear your report and mentally,” he said, motioning toward his temple, “put the pieces together.”
“Well,” Aaron said. “If our find had garnered the type of publicity we anticipated, we'd have been assured of additional grants to help fund this project.” Others in the group could not contain their disappointment and slipped snide glances in Randy's direction. “Other than those already on board,” Aaron said, looking doubtful, “most professionals in our field have voiced an unequivocal disinterest.”
“Disinterest?” Dr. Withers asked, grabbing the edge of the table with both hands. “Dis… interest? Even the biggies back east?”
“Especially the biggies. The rumors, sir. They don't like the rumors about Chione's dreams, let alone believe in her abilities overall.”
“When the hell did that get out?”
Aaron stared straight into Dr. Withers's eyes and would not disclose the rest. It would not be his style to inform on Randy regardless of personal disgust for the man. Finally, Aaron shrugged. “After Clifford and his contacts managed to p
ull this find in our direction, we were getting flooded with offers for funding.” He shook his head. “However, the upside is that after the leak, the ones who are with us now, regardless of rumor, will be unequivocally supportive.”
Dr. Withers's lips tightened. His deflated expression changed to that of a person conjuring retribution. “The press, what are they saying?”
“Making light of the paranormal, I'm afraid.”
Just then the lights flickered. They flickered again then went out, leaving the room strangely lit from sunlight filtering through the window curtains.
“Good ol' predictable Cairo,” Clifford said.
The lights flickered on and off several times. Dr. Withers lips pinched together again. While he had a sense of humor, he also detested interruptions.
Clifford leaned back in his chair and raised both arms up toward the ceiling lights. “Dah-dah-h-h!” he said. They flicked on again and stayed.
“Magic,” Kendra said.
Randy's head flopped from side to side with an expression indicating he could not tolerate another allusion to anything paranormal.
“Aaron,” Dr. Withers said, calling everyone to attention again. “Anything better than that?”
“We've awarded first news release rights to the San Francisco Sentinel,” Aaron said as he flipped through pages. “Besides showing positive interest, they will vindicate us even if our find turns up empty.”
“What leads you to that conclusion?”
“We're giving them first rights. They wanted exclusive coverage, but they won't refuse any deal. They're already on their way to the site and will probably accept whatever we offer. This is a biggie for them. It's usually the East Coast or international papers that get handed this type of privilege.”
“How do they feel about Chione's influence?” Kendra asked.
Aaron smiled. “They'll take it all in stride. After all, one of their journalists plays the stock market…using numerology.”
Dr. Withers settled back and twitched his mustache, a sure sign he was thinking. “Would be nice if we had a Lord Carnarvon.” Finally after another silence, which meant he had shifted mental gears, he adjusted his glasses and began again. “I want you all to prepare yourselves for one of two events.” Everyone leaned forward. “Either we're about to unearth a barren tomb long ago plundered of its riches—”
“Or?” Kendra and Bebe asked in unison.
“Or… hopefully, we stand to unearth the greatest Egyptian find since Howard Carter's time.”
Pandemonium broke loose. Dr. Withers sat patiently waiting till their reactions calmed.
“Just how far into the dig are we?” Clifford asked finally.
“We dug out the hole that our guy fell into. We suctioned out and strained the backfill from inside the entrance passageway,” Dr. Withers said, relating in his methodical way. “Farther in, we discovered a portcullis, which we left in place. I made sure the tomb was sealed before I left. In the interim, workers are setting up yurts for our use.”
“And those first artifacts?” Clifford asked.
“The day we left, Ginny was filming those few relics found buried inside the entrance. She also shot the entire area before we so much as lifted a shovel.”
“What tantalizes you into believing this could be a rich discovery?” Kendra asked.
Dr. Withers thought a moment, and then leaned up close over the table as if he did not wish anyone else to hear. “Because those few 18th Dynasty artifacts hint… at a royal tomb.”
Everyone had something to say. How well they knew the feeling of digging till disappointed or excavating into pay dirt. Suddenly the atmosphere was charged again.
“What more, Dr. Withers?” Bebe asked.
“We all stand to make history,” he said, barely able to contain his excitement. “The fact that those first menial relics were not already plundered, and that the portcullis is intact, tells me the tomb beyond has remained sealed for thousands of years. Till now, till someone tripped.”
Aaron rocked back in his chair smiling at the whims of fate, something he always claimed had a powerful force all its own. This was the news everyone needed to hear. Confirmation of Chione's premonition dreams was the reason Dr. Withers rushed to join the exploratory team, but gloating was not her style. This was reality for her and her ego had nothing to do with it.
“Sterling?” Bebe asked, prompting him.
“Oh, excuse me,” Dr. Withers said. “When I heard about the mysterious sounds, like you, Bebe, I fixated on the Singing Colossi.” He shook his head thoughtfully. “One thing we don't explore is the wind.” He chuckled. “I'll bet that guy who first heard those sounds got scared right out of his turban.” He threw a fist into the air. “I'll bet that put an end to one grave robber's career.” Everyone cheered, but Dr. Withers quieted and leaned forward over the tabletop with a pensive gleam in his eyes. “When I was down on my hands and knees in that hole,” he said, “I had a déjà vu experience.”
“Really?” Kendra asked.
“I felt like we had just finished sealing that tomb and here I was opening it again.”
Hearing his paranormal experience left the others speechless. Quiet filled the room. Chione hoped no one resented the importance Dr. Withers placed on her presence. She was being used for some sort of channeling. She, too, felt overwhelmed.
Dr. Withers again broke the silence. “Let's not forget Clifford's part in all this,” he said. “Without his affiliation with the Madu Museum and that inspector buddy, Paki Rashad from the Antiquities Society, this exploration could have been bequeathed to some big university.”
“Or to a well-known museum,” Aaron said. “Because they have financial clout.”
“Or to some wealthy patron who cares not one iota about digging in the hot sun,” Bebe said. “Unless there's reward for personal coffers.”
“Wish we had a filthy rich patron on our side,” Dr. Withers said.
“Let's hear it for Clifford and his contacts,” Kendra said. “Here, here.”
They toasted, raising water glasses. Randy only smiled.
“You gonna be a part of this group or what?” Aaron asked, prodding Randy to toast.
After taking a sip, Clifford waved his hand to be heard. “You may not understand what I'm going to say,” he said, looking around the group. “But listen up. The negotiations went too easily, just fell into our laps, like this was meant to be—like there's another reason it's all happening specifically to us.”
“Uh-oh,” Randy said. “Chione's mumbo-jumbo's gotten through to you.”
Clifford nearly choked. “Until you learn how to read your own gut,” he said. “Don't condemn others who do.”
Chione stared at the tabletop. From her dreams, she gleaned other reasons why each of them may have been chosen. They came from varied backgrounds and had reputable experiences. Having ended up together at the new and unproven California Institute of Archaeology did not feel coincidental. Until the visions provided clearer answers, she would not disclose any fragments of information and risk sounding like a fortuneteller. She would watch each in the group deftly play out their parts as events unfolded in the days and weeks to come.
“Even the funding obtained, Dr. Withers,” Aaron said. “The donors just about dumped the cash on the table.”
“Still,” Dr. Withers said. “It's only enough to get in, do the job, and get out.”
“What about delays?” Bebe asked. “Unforeseen events, cost overruns, things like that?”
“Our benefactors aren't that wealthy. It's all we have now, considering the leaks that got out,” Dr. Withers said, shaking his head again. “Our Institute's too new, still got a reputation to prove.”
“Wish we had a bigger cushion,” Clifford said, shaking his head thoughtfully.
“Regardless,” Dr. Withers said. “As a professional group, this is our expedition to what might well be the most intriguing Egyptian find since Howard Carter persisted.”
“If not now,
we'll at least be poised for future grants,” Bebe said.
“So let's get on with our meeting. I need to count heads.” Dr. Withers flipped through his paperwork. “Let's go around the table. Bebe Hutton, you've decided to postpone your surgery for the duration of our stay here? You're very much needed, but let me stress,” he said, pointing into the air again. “You'd better consider your health.”
“It wasn't I who chose to delay the surgery,” Bebe said. “My new gynecologist insists my symptoms will diminish with natural remedies.” She rolled her eyes. “Wish they'd hurry.”
Bebe could be so reserved, yet at times, curiously open about her female problems that caused many absences from work. The entire group knew of Bebe's post-menopausal malaise. In fact, they all knew one another on fairly personal levels. Understanding each other was what made them bond together as a tight-knit team despite the bickering. They could not help themselves. Or, according to Chione's dream fragments, these particular people might simply be acting out predestined scripts.
“Okay, so you're on board. Did Kenneth come along?”
“He had hoped I'd slow down after our years in South America,” Bebe said. “His back's been acting up, but he never let a little bullet stop him.”
“Next, Clifford Rawlings, with your wife?”
“Need you ask? I should have retired five years ago, but Egypt again?” His grin stretched ear to ear. “Rita says when I do retire, we should just move here and buy our burial plots in Garden City.”
“Aaron Ashby? Did you bring a friend?”
Aaron glanced quickly at Chione and she pretended not to see. “Just me, and raring to go.”
“Oh, yes. I learned something about you before you joined the Institute,” Dr. Withers said. “You've been through the Holy Land, so the Nile should be right up your alley.”