Candice was almost in pain, having gone from the cold of night to a heated excitement, with the shock of arousal now replaced by fear.
He came closer. Candice could actually feel Nevada tensing, muscles tightening, minute shifts in her weight. This must have been what it would feel like to embrace a tiger as it readied itself to pounce.
The man was a few steps away when Nevada lunged up, throwing the handful of sand into his face. He cried out in surprise as Nevada collided with him, driving her other hand into his belly. The outcry cut off like a switch had been thrown. With a quick twist, she was behind him, pinning his arm around his back. The wrenching move drove his face into the moonlight.
“Grandpa?” Candice asked.
Nevada paused midway through breaking Usama’s arm. “I don’t suppose this is your other grandfather? And he’s an asshole?”
“Nevada!”
She let him go. “What were you doing sneaking up on us?”
Usama held his stomach as he answered in an understandably winded voice. “I thought you might be sleeping… Didn’t want to wake you… Nice punch…”
They rekindled the fire. Usama had brought three camels; he took two blankets out of one’s saddlebags. Nevada and Candice gratefully huddled in them as the fire roared back to life.
“How’d you get away from the Khamsin?” Usama asked, warming his hands.
Candice started to answer, but Nevada spoke over her. “Lockpick in my iPod, then we followed a bird here. What’s your story? Where have you been?”
“Nevada,” Candice chided.
“I’m also sorry for punching you in the gut. That was a low blow,” Nevada added.
Usama waved her off. “I deserve such a treatment for allowing you to be taken. When the horsemen attacked, I hid to wait for an opening. None came, so when they captured you, I followed at a discreet distance to free you when the chance arrived. Unfortunately, they split up. I followed one set of tracks, but it was the group going back to their camp. When I realized you weren’t there, I borrowed these camels and came back the other way. But by then, the tracks had faded.”
“So how’d you find us?” Candice asked.
“I thought to myself that if you hadn’t escaped, you’d be dead. And if you had escaped, this is the only source of fresh water in a hundred miles, so if you weren’t here...”
“We’d be dead.” Nevada turned to Candice. “This is what I like about men. Coolheaded logic. That and handlebar mustaches.”
Usama took a deep breath and patted his belly as if to affirm he was intact. “So! We are alive. We have camels. Where to now?”
“Nearest town with phone service,” Nevada said. “And phones for sale.”
Usama looked at Candice in confusion. “What happened to finding the next clue?”
“There is no next clue,” Nevada interrupted. “It’s too dangerous. We’re folding our hand.”
Usama glanced at her, then back to Candice. “And you’re letting her?”
“What do you mean I’m letting her?”
“What do you mean she’s letting me?”
Picking up a stick, Usama stoked the fire. “Nevada, you don’t seem the kind of woman to give up when the odds are not in your favor.”
“Stubborn?” Nevada asked him.
“Suicidal,” Candice suggested.
Usama didn’t answer either way. “So if you are giving up now, it seems to me you must be doing so on my granddaughter’s behalf. A very thoughtful gesture, but I am surprised she’s letting you do so.”
Candice felt oddly put on the spot. “Nevada is really the being-in-danger expert here, so if she thinks it’s too risky, it’s probably too… I mean, she wouldn’t call this off for no reason.”
The fire popped and crackled, spitting sparks up into the air.
Nevada bit the inside of her cheek. “Look, Usama, you said you found their base camp?”
Usama nodded. “But there’s probably more. The Khamsin keep themselves scattered, like packs of wolves. If you see one, there’s probably ten more you don’t see.”
“That’s cockroaches,” Nevada said dryly. “But if you can put this camp on a map, we can call it in to the American embassy, get a drone strike going. They take out any high-value targets, that could be a fat bounty.”
“Is that likely?” Candice asked.
Nevada shrugged. “It’s a lotto ticket, but that’s no reason not to play it. So, Usama—coordinates?”
He gave a bemused toss of his head. “It’s not hard to find. You just look for the big boat in the middle of the desert.”
Nevada leaned forward until she was almost kissing the fire. “What boat?”
Chapter 7
“I just want to look
at it,” Nevada said, strenuously innocent, as she took the looking glass and aimed it at the boat.
They’d set out almost the moment Usama had mentioned it, barely stopping to fill their canteens, and riding the camels hard enough to piss off any self-respecting animal lover. After half a day’s ride, Usama had called a halt. They’d dismounted and he’d led them to the top of a dune overlooking the camp. There, on their bellies, they looked out at their treasure.
Nevada handed Candice the telescope. “So much for an air strike.”
Candice took a look.
Under a web of camouflage netting, a dozen military surplus tents were set up, their army-green tarped over to match the desert sands. There was a corral for camels, a shooting range, stacks of supply crates and gasoline barrels, jeeps and pick-up trucks. Everything needed for a terrorist training camp.
And in the middle, slanting up the graceful slope of a dune, sat a papyriform boat. It reminded Candice immediately of the famous Khufu barge that had been discovered miraculously intact in 1954. It was over a hundred feet long and twenty feet wide, its hull long and lean, turning up at the ends into a proudly vertical bow and stern. In the middle was a deckhouse, thirty feet long, seven feet high, and undoubtedly holding much weight. It was there the boat met the summit of the dune it lay on, one half on the slight incline of the dune, the other half balanced in the air over a precarious slope, either excavated by the terrorists or laid bare by the ever-shifting sands of the desert.
It couldn’t be closer. It couldn’t be further away.
“Either they’re waiting for us, or…” Nevada trailed off.
“Okay,” Candice said, nervous to be even this close to the camp. “You’ve gotten a look at it.”
Nevada nodded. “How many people you think are down there?”
“No,” Candice said firmly.
“At least a hundred,” Usama said.
“A hundred,” Nevada said thoughtfully.
Candice rapped her on the head with the scope. “You said you wanted to quit, remember? ‘We’re folding our hand’?”
“That was before I knew we had a straight flush!”
“That’s a straight flush?” Candice asked, gesturing to the army of Khamsin.
“I didn’t say it was a royal flush,” Nevada said defensively.
“I don’t play poker,” Usama said.
“What happened to this being too dangerous?” Candice insisted.
“I thought we’d have to find another ten dumb markers doing the ‘Goonies are good enough’ thing. But look!” Nevada jabbed her finger repeatedly over the dune. “It’s right there. That’s gotta be the last stop. And it’s gotta be in the deckhouse, which is smaller than a mobile home. We just have to walk in, grab the shit, and walk back out. I bet there isn’t even a death-trap.”
“There’s an army of crazed terrorists squatting all around it!”
“Yes, but if they weren’t an issue, we could just walk right in and take it.”
“But they are an issue.”
“But they’re the only issue.”
“ There doesn’t need to be another issue! ”
“There is another issue,” Usama said.
Nevada looked at him. “Don’t do this t
o me, Ozzie. Don’t be the pineapple on my pizza.”
Usama was unmoved. “Whatever you’re going to do, you’ll have to do it before the sandstorm gets here.”
Candice and Nevada turned. The horizon looked like God had rubbed it out with a pencil eraser, smearing the vanishing point into a haze of graphite. At this distance, it resembled a fogbank. Only it seemed so—hungry.
“Sandstorm,” Nevada muttered. “How long would you say until that gets here?”
Usama scrutinized the horizon, his eyes narrowing. “An hour, give or take.”
“And when it gets here, the Khamsin, what do they do?”
Usama wove his hands up and down as if weighting two objects. “If they’re sane, they’ll go inside and wait out the storm.”
“So you’re saying the boat will be unguarded?”
“Nevada, no ,” Candice said unequivocally.
“You heard him!” Nevada protested. “They’re all going to be in their tents. Someone could walk right in—”
“ No .”
“I’ve seen sandstorms peel the flesh from a man’s bones,” Usama pointed out.
“Eh, I could stand to lose a little weight,” Nevada said.
“What if one of them goes out to take a leak and sees you?” Candice asked.
“I take the clothes off one of them. These guys are covered from head to toe. As long as I don’t get too close to anyone, I might as well be your run-of-the-mill Ms. America contestant for all they know.” Nevada snapped her fingers. Grabbing the scope from Candice, she scanned the camp again. “And where will I get their clothes, you ask? They must have guards on the perimeter. I grab one of them—bingo. Three o’clock.”
“What happens at three o’clock?” Usama asked.
Nevada gestured around herself clockwise with a chopping hand. “Ten, eleven… forget it. Usama, watch the camels. Be ready for a fast getaway.”
She started to rise, but Candice grabbed her arm. “And what happened to not being able to watch me die?”
“Who said you’re coming?” Nevada countered. “Congratulations, you’re now assistant camel-watcher. If, for any reason, Usama is unable to discharge the duties of his office—”
“I’m coming with you,” Candice insisted.
“Like balls you are,” Nevada laughed. “It’s literally snatch and grab. I don’t need a sidekick on this one.”
“Snatch and grab are synonyms—” Candice started, before shaking her head. “Never mind. If you think I’m passing up a chance to see the inside of a solar barge, you’re insane. Besides, what if there’s something to decipher in there? My ancient Egyptian is a lot better than yours.”
“It’s a boat,” Nevada said. “I think I can figure it out.”
“In how much time?” Candice persisted. “There’s no telling how long you’ll have in there. Two heads are better than one, after all, and it’s not like you need me out here.”
“Maybe I do!” Nevada said stridently—maybe too stridently. She clenched her teeth and dislodged herself from where she’d been lying, skidding down to the bottom of the dune.
Candice went after her. She noticed Usama didn’t follow. “Don’t say you’re protecting me.”
Nevada kept walking for the camels. “No, I’m not getting you killed. It’s way lazier.”
Candice grabbed her before she could get any further. “Just because you care about me is no reason—”
“That’s not what this is,” Nevada insisted.
“If you care about me you have to respect me—”
“When did we establish that?”
“And if you respect me,” Candice concluded, “you have to respect my decisions!”
“What about my decisions?” Nevada demanded.
“Your decisions are stupid.”
Nevada crossed her arms. “Okay, you have a point there.”
Candice smiled despite herself. “Do you trust me?”
Nevada pursed her lips, blowing out a long exhale. “As much as I trust anyone,” she said, then paused and added, “As much as I trust myself.”
“Then trust me . We work better as a team.” Candice reached out and patted Nevada’s shoulder. “Besides, with your habit of blowing up everything in sight, this might be my only chance to get a look at that thing up close.”
“Keep talking. Next time I’m bringing Usama along and you’re on camel duty.” She called out, “Hey, gramps, really hope you’re not going commando under the robes. We’re gonna need ’em.”
Candice bellied down to another dune, now wearing her grandfather’s jellabiya. The camp was set on wide, sandy flatland, the plain broken only by the subtle incline of the dune that finally grew to hold the boat. She grinned sardonically. Maybe it was a long-dry riverbed or drained lake, some stopping point for the ship that had been erased thoroughly enough that the only thing left was the sand flowing as the water once had.
Thirty feet overhead was a sentry post, set into the last dune before the curving landscape collapsed into the flat expanse. A Khamsin stood watch, pup tent at the ready for him to sit out the sandstorm. By now it was a wall of sand as tall as a skyscraper, swallowing up the landscape it dwarfed, steadily growing larger as it prowled closer, closer.
The machine gun in the sentry’s hands wasn’t nearly as imposing, but it was probably more deadly. Candice was more worried by the radio clipped to his belt.
“I suppose one call on that radio and we have the entire camp after us,” she said.
“Who needs a radio?” Nevada asked. “He lets off one shot, same difference.”
“So what do we do?”
Nevada folded an arm under herself, propping her chin up on her fist. “Okay. You strip naked. Dance around a little. Sing a little song. While he’s looking away, I walk up behind him and take him out.”
Candice glanced at the sentry again. “He’s looking away right now. Why don’t you just take him out now?”
Nevada shoved herself up to her feet. “You’re no fun.”
She walked briskly but quietly, reminding Candice of a cat fast-trotting across a busy street, until she was almost on top of the sentry, then: “Excuse me, does this feel like a punch?”
Her fist came in, lined up precisely with the space between his nostrils and the point of his chin, and unmoored his brain from his skull. He went down so hard that Candice winced, and Nevada was instantly dragging him off the top of the dune, letting gravity take over so his body rolled to the valley between the summits. She skidded down after him, and Candice joined her.
“Tie him up,” Nevada said, undoing his clothes. “And hey, back at the oasis, when I, you know—” Nevada demonstratively covered the man’s mouth with her hand.
“Yeah?” Candice asked, taking his belt off.
“What did you think was going to happen?”
“I had just woken up. I don’t think before I get either half an hour or a cup of coffee.”
“Really? Because you were getting all… breathy …”
“Shut up.”
They crouched low, watching the camp fall under the shadow of the sandstorm like it was about to be eaten by some horror movie monster. Nevada wore the Khamsin’s thawb, though she’d politely declined the serwal he had on under it.
“What are you thinking about?” Candice asked suddenly. “And feel free not to answer that if it doesn’t involve clothes.”
“I don’t think about sex all the time. I’m not a guy.” Nevada’s brow crinkled. “Although I do own a lot of men’s shirts. Oh my God, is that like them wearing our underwear?”
In what felt like no time at all, the wait was over. The red-orange sandstorm towered over them as high as the clouds, striking Candice as simply impossible . She had no frame of reference for it. It was Biblical to her, a deluge—the feeling people must’ve gotten when a dam broke or a tsunami came to shore. And no matter how much she told herself it was just wind and dust, a sense of unease remained. She was going to be swallowed up.
; Even more worryingly, crouching down next to Nevada made her feel better. She didn’t actually believe that Nevada was guaranteed to keep her safe, but God, she wanted to.
Nevada hauled her scarf up over her face. “You ever get the feeling your life is about to suck?”
“Ten minutes into The Last Jedi .”
Nevada nodded. “Opening credits of Aquaman . But I was pleasantly surprised there. I wouldn’t mind watching it again if you haven’t seen it.”
“You’ve already got me down for a drink,” Candice retorted. “Now you’re just being greedy.”
“I’m a mercenary. Greed comes with the territory.”
“The least of your vices, I’m sure.”
“I could show you a few more if you’re not too busy later.” Nevada reached out and took Candice’s hand.
“By Jove,” Candice said sarcastically. “I’m scandalized.”
“It’s because of the sandstorm. Honest.”
The darkness covered them.
“Bollocks,” Candice said, covering her eyes with her free hand.
The sandstorm hit like a wave bowling her over at the beach, sand instantly everywhere, in her clothes, scraping against her skin, wrenching her down to the ground and nearly pulling her out of Nevada’s clutches—only Nevada tightened her grip until Candice’s bones creaked.
She was being mauled by a pack of wolves, banshees screeched in her ears, concertina wire wrapped around her and cut through her clothes. Candice opened her eyes, pulled her hand away, and saw through her veil that the world had turned red—what little she could see of it with the haze falling all around her like a curtain. Her jellabiya billowed and flapped wildly as the wind pulled at, clawing at her in turn.
Nevada pulled hard on her hand until they were shoulder to shoulder and shouted something, but Candice couldn’t hear her over the howl of the storm. She pointed forward with her other hand, in the direction where the camp had been before the sandstorm obliterated the world. Nevada nodded and they set off, leaning against the wind just to stay on their feet.
Nevada held firmly onto Candice’s hand, pulling her along. Visibility was so low that Candice couldn’t tell if they were making any headway until she saw one of the military tents swimming by, lit from the inside, human shadows thrown up on the walls, black on dark.
Candice Cushing and the Lost Tomb of Cleopatra Page 20