The Ka

by Mary Deal

  “I think we should claim it,” Carmelita said unexpectedly.

  Elbertina's look of astonishment asked why. She leaned away from Carmelita.

  “You mean your government won't want to claim this one?” Dr. Withers asked of the Bolis.

  The officer waved him off. “Too many tombs,” he said. “Every country in the world has permission on our soil. Egypt cannot afford to finance so many excavations.”

  “Won't you allow us to see inside the tomb so we'll know what we're filing for?” Dr. Withers asked. “We could be securing a permit on an empty hole in the ground.”

  “There's still the artwork,” Aaron said.

  “And the history,” Bebe said.

  “These and other containers would be your treasures,” the officer said, gesturing to the boxes on the floor. “If artifacts can be proven stolen from other tombs, probably a great reward awaits you.”

  “The tomb won't be empty,” Kenneth said. “If you'll take my word. I doubt the tomb's been totally looted.”

  “How could you tell, Kenneth?”

  “Listen, after they secured the two guys they caught, the officers and I went back into the passageway. You'll never guess what we saw.”

  “Kenneth…?”

  “Footprints, two sets in the dust going down the passageway and back. We walked it with our lights and found more doors.”

  “And?” Bebe asked.

  “None of the seals are broken.”

  Several people gasped, then again, all talked at once. Except for the Yagos.

  “Wait a minute,” Dr. Withers said in a more demanding voice. “What makes you think they couldn't have gotten in through another mastaba?”

  “Well,” Kenneth said, motioning to the man standing beside him. “This officer thinks they would've broken open all the doors if they had and just raped the place and left.”

  “Few footprints,” the officer said. “Maybe still intact. You claim it?”

  Chione glanced out the flap again. “Dr. Withers?” she said, motioning for him to see. “Looks like some reporters may have the story already.”

  Outside, reporters mingled, interviewing people, and filming and taping conversations with the handcuffed men in the jeep.

  “Damned!” Dr. Withers said.

  The three Yago brothers glanced quickly at one another with expressions of utter disappointment. Somehow, Chione knew their dismay went much deeper.

  “Mastabas are under guard, secure,” the officer said. “You send claim first.”

  “Rashad,” Dr. Withers said. “We've got to get Paki Rashad back here on the double.” He turned, smiled politely at Elbertina and gestured toward the family. “Then we'll have to hammer out a new deal to—”

  “Hey-y!” a familiar voice said coming through the fly and taking everyone by surprise. Clifford strolled in wearing a summer weight business suit. The jacket hung on his finger over his shoulder and his shirtsleeves were rolled up. He smiled, made his way around the crates, shook hands and received well wishes and hugs. He looked ghastly, exhausted, but sounded upbeat.

  “Jeez, old buddy,” Dr. Withers said, hugging Clifford and patting him solidly on the back.

  “What's with the two in handcuffs in the jeep?” He threw his jacket over the back of a chair, then noticed the opened crates and the Yago family members and paused. “What gives?”

  “We were in the process of polishing details of our agreement with the Yago family,” Dr. Withers said. He managed a tight smile at Elbertina.

  Clifford's jaw dropped. “Am I too late? Have we signed anything?”

  “Not yet,” Aaron said.

  Clifford sagged with relief. “Good,” he said. “Good.” He picked up his jacket again and pulled out papers from the inside pocket. He opened them out and handed them to Dr. Withers.

  “What's this?” Dr. Withers asked, cocking his head. He looked at the papers through bifocals while everyone waited. Then suddenly he said, “Three hundred thou! Where—”

  “Already deposited in the CIA's Egyptian Archaeological Trust,” Clifford said. “We don't need to be making any deals and giving away the fruits of our labors.”

  Elbertina finally wilted. Slowly, she rose from her seat. The brothers came to attention. She said something in Spanish to Carmelita, then bent down and placed an obligatory peck on her cheek. She motioned to her brothers with her eyes. One of them scampered around to clear the way so she could pass through the group. They left quietly. Royce followed.

  Carmelita looked bewildered. So did Kendra.

  “There's more where that came from,” Clifford said proudly. “Soon as the deal's done.”

  “Where'd you get your hands on this kind of dough?”

  “My winery in Napa.”

  “You must have mortgaged that business to the hilt, old buddy,” Dr. Withers said. “Why'd you go and—”

  “No mortgage,” Clifford said. “I sold it.”

  Dead silence filled the cook tent.

  “You sold your winery?” Dr. Withers asked quietly. He looked ready to cry.

  “To the Alessandro brothers who own the neighboring facility. I just got back.”

  “For us? You sacrificed your holdings for us? After the way you struggled to get that property?” Dr. Withers did a double take. “You what? Just got back… from where?”

  “California,” Clifford said quietly. “I talked to my attorney on the phone from Cairo and took off. He made all the arrangements and all I had to do, just about, was sign the papers.”

  “You couldn't have gotten the best deal on such short notice.”

  “Even with the short notice, the sale was reasonable. I knew the value. What do I need that property for now?” His voice expressed confidence. “My Rita's here. My life's here. When the deal's done and my other mortgages are paid off, there'll be over a million in operating capital.”

  No one said a word. Kendra began to cry with quick little whiffs. Still stooping down, she clutched the edge of one of the crates. She was at her breaking point. The good news saving them from the likes of the Yagos and her contemptible husband's scheming put her over the edge.

  As if needing the support, Dr. Withers eased himself onto the bench beside a table. “How do we repay this?”

  “We can discuss it later,” Clifford said, shrugging. “I do want to stay in Egypt though.” He smiled one of his most facetious grins. “Just keep me on the payroll till we work something out, okay?”

  Dr. Withers pulled at his mustache harder than ever. “I can't… we… Clifford…?”

  “Something else,” Clifford said. “That ragged old Victorian across from the south corner of your property, the leased crop fields?”

  “That Victorian? What about it?”

  “It was for sale. I put a deposit.”

  “That rundown structure?” Aaron asked. “Fourteen rooms someone converted to a ballroom. It's probably dry rotted. Why?”

  Clifford may have gone totally over the edge, but he stood firm. “Can be remodeled,” he said. He turned back to Dr. Withers. “You should reclaim the lease on the south end crop fields for direct access to the ballroom. It's big enough and can be completely restored as a showplace for our artifacts.”

  Dr. Withers knew what he held in his grip. Clifford Rawlings had just handed him the funds to the Institute's future. Dr. Withers's eyes got glassy. He looked around at everyone. “We can finance that other tomb now!” he said. He jumped up, excited again, and then hurriedly gathered up his papers.

  “You want to repeat that?” Clifford asked. “What other tomb?”

  Dr. Withers was already at the fly. He stopped, opened his mouth but the words would not form. Clearly, he was overwhelmed by Clifford's act of benevolence, but not about to turn it down. He removed his bifocals. “Aaron,” he said, gesturing with the glasses. “Aaron.” He turned, motioned for Kenneth and the officers to follow, and then disappeared outside.

  “I'd better get Randy and Rashad back here on the double,”
Aaron said.

  Clifford sighed wearily and poured a cup of coffee.

  “Hey, Clifford, bring that karkade over here, would you,” Aaron said.

  Chione joined them as Clifford sat the cups down.

  Kendra and Bebe who huddled at the other end of the tables talking in low tones. Everyone else had cleared out.

  “Somebody clue me?” Clifford asked.

  “Kenneth and the Bolis caught a couple of thieves,” Aaron said. “In the process, they discovered another tomb under the necropolis.”

  “You wouldn't be kidding.”

  “That's why Dr. Withers rushed off,” Chione said. “He went to fax our claim before anyone else gets to it.”

  “Have you seen it?”

  “Not yet,” Chione said. “But it must be deeper than this one.”

  “Buried beneath the necropolis,” Aaron said. “Who would have thought?”

  “Good,” Clifford said. “We'll be here for a long time.” Then he turned to Chione. “How's my Rita?”

  She touched the amulet through her shirt. “Down under,” she said. “Safe and sound—” Down under, a ghost-like voice echoed inside her head. Safe and sound.

  Then another vision…

  …a withered body

  …laying like Rita on her deathbed. The vision shook her to the core.

  “How are you holding up, Clifford?” Aaron asked.

  “Rita would want me to keep working,” he said, smiling sadly. “Staying busy helps ease the pain.”

  “If we can do anything….”

  Clifford swallowed hard, smiled again ruefully. Then he asked, “What's this?” as he pulled a pad of paper across the tabletop toward himself.

  “Aaron's doodles,” Chione said.

  “Looks like the Pillared Hall,” Clifford said.

  “It's just doodling.”

  “Some doodle,” Clifford said. “Looks as if we're looking down into the Pillared Hall from above.”

  They studied the lines and turned the pad first in one direction and then another. Sure enough, the double layered tick-tack-toe grid with its little squares and other lines looked like a floor plan of the Pillared Hall and its six columns, as if viewing an architect's three-dimensional blueprint from above.

  “You've got a good imagination,” Aaron said.

  “No, really,” Clifford said, taking a sip of coffee. “See here. Remember the Pillared Hall has shallow grooves in the floor. The floor looks like a big checkerboard.”

  Chione felt herself…

  …floating down into that bright yellow room.

  Anxiety ran rampant through her nervous system.

  “Look here,” Clifford said. “These small squares where the major lines join are the six pillars. And what's this?” He pointed to the open square on the side that Aaron had darkened as a signal to Chione to fill in her X. “What is this X in the side square?”

  “A tick-tack-toe grid, a double game.” Then she felt compelled to reach over and touch the X mark. “That's my mark,” she said as another vision swept her mind.

  Down under—safe and sound.

  She bolted, as if having received a shock from touching the X. Then she could not resist and touched again.

  A body. Like Rita's.

  “But not Rita!” she said.

  “What?”

  “Not Rita,” Chione said softly.

  “What about my Rita?”

  Chione gingerly touched the X mark again, saw Aaron out of the corner of her eye signal for Clifford's patience.

  Tauret motioned her to follow, floated downward, against the north wall, into the bright yellow room.

  Then, her own words spoken to Randy back in California repeated from memory. The pyramid will not be found near the surface. “I-I've got it!” Chione said, though whispering, only vaguely aware of Kendra and Bebe leaving.

  “Tell us,” Aaron said.

  “Wait,” she whispered, not wanting to break the spell. With shaking hands, she touched the X again.

  Down under, safe and sound.

  Chione stood suddenly, jerking the table and spilling the drinks. She did not have time to explain to Clifford. “Come on!” she said quietly. “But no one else.”

  They left the tent as calmly as possible walking toward the portcullis shaft, not wishing to draw attention. Having traversed the shaft many times, Aaron used a rope to repel to the bottom, occasionally bouncing off the rungs of the wooden ladder. Chione did the same.

  “Jeez, you guys,” Clifford called down as he descended the ladder. “You gotta' show me how to do that.”

  They all but ran to the Pillared Hall. Chione got down on hands and knees, put her face to the floor and ran a fingertip over a groove.

  “What in the name of—”

  “Sh-h-h!” she said. She made her way along the floor following the groove, not caring the least that her rump stuck up in the air. She blew the dust from the groove as she crawled along. Breathing fast in anticipation and excitement, she inadvertently sucked up the smell of the floor into her nostrils, dust and all. She choked but kept going. She crept along quickly, like an animal rooting something out of the ground. She put her face right up to where one of the pillars met the floor, then ran a fingernail along the groove and screamed. “I've found it! I've found it!” She jumped up and grabbed their hands and shook them in the air in triumph. “I've found it! I've found it!” she said again. Her excitement echoed off the walls, and rumbled through the empty chamber till the sounds ran together then dissipated.

  Clifford looked toward the pillar she had just examined. He tried to see around it. He shrugged. “The only thing left to find is the entrance to the burial chamber.”

  “You're standing on it!”

  37

  All three dropped to their knees and routed along the grooves Chione directed them to follow.

  Clifford checked a few other areas across the Hall then returned to the first. “ `By Jove, I think she's got it,' ” he said. He blew dust from a groove, spat, and rubbed a small area clean. “My word, those ancient stone carvers did miraculous work.”

  Aaron studied his doodling. He followed one groove away from the north wall to the center pillar, then over to where Chione knelt near the first pillar closest to the doorway.

  “The same area you darkened on the tic-tac-toe game,” she said. “And where I put my X.”

  “But wait,” Clifford said. “Let's check the floor, all of it. If there are seams anywhere else in the grid, maybe that's the way the was made.” He chose a section to examine at a far corner.

  “Or,” Aaron said. “Maybe the whole floor will have to come up.”

  “This entire tomb is non-conforming,” Clifford said, on his knees again. Soon he reported, “No cracks in these grooves over here.”

  “None here either,” Chione said from across the Hall.

  “Nor here,” Aaron said. He waved his page of doodles motioning them to follow. Near the doorway looking back into the Pillared Hall, they compared the drawing.

  Grooves carved into the floor looked just like the crosshatching of the double tic-tac-toe game grid. Squares that Chione had drawn on the paper where lines intersected were in the exact locations as where the pillars stood over the intersecting grooves in the floor. The opened square on the grid containing Chione's X marked the same open square on the floor along the north wall; same area where they sat in meditation; same area from which Tauret always appeared.

  “Here's our access,” Chione said, pointing to the floor.

  “How'd this happen?” Clifford asked.

  “What?”

  “The doodling similarity,” he said. “Or are you getting as good at this as Chione?”

  “Who would have guessed? I thought I'd been doodling out of nervousness,” Aaron said. “Chione's the one who made a tic-tac-toe game of it. She always put her X in that particular square.”

  “The two of you did it together?”

  “I guess we did,” she said.
>
  “Now you're both tuning into the same message, or how's that go?” Clifford asked. “The message is being sent through both of you at once?”

  “Something like that,” Chione said. “Whatever the message, we both received the clues.”

  “Oh, no,” Clifford said, animated with hands clutching at his hair. “Now, both of you are… that way!”

  They exited the portcullis shaft and stood looking out over the site. What an industrious place their camp had become in only a few moments. Life pulsated in the middle of the desolate craggy hills with whippets of sand and temperatures again beginning to soar.

  “There's the boss,” Aaron said. “Over with that group of men near the shacks.”

  They watched as Dr. Withers pointed along the ground. Laborers followed, scratching lines in the sand with sticks while other men drove stakes.

  “Looks like we're building more sleeping rooms,” Clifford said.

  “Yes!” Aaron said, pumping a fist into the air. “He must have gotten the go ahead on the other tomb.”

  They started down the hill but Clifford grabbed their arms. “Look,” he said, motioning with his chin. “Over there.”

  The four Yagos stood huddled far back on the other side of the restraining wall. They spoke head to head with another man whose gestures were animated and his face partially hidden behind a loose turban. Elbertina closed her umbrella and provided a clear view of Dakarai hunched into the center of the group, evidently highly agitated. No casual conversation there. Elbertina's closed umbrella jabbed the ground several times. Her other hand suddenly upthrusted was surely a gesture of great anger.

  Dakarai suddenly looked up the hill and saw them, then forced a smile and waved. He said something to the Yagos, and then approached. “Good afternoon,” he said, calling to them up the hill, all smiles. “I hear you made great discovery.”

  “Guess we did,” Clifford said.

  “That Kenneth,” Dakarai said, reaching them. “He should become archaeologist too.”

  “Haven't seen you around much, Dakarai,” Aaron said.