“How much written?” Ky asked.
“There was some,” she said, honestly. “Papyrus…clay tablets…”
His heart sank. “Do you know what he did with it? Had he sold all of it?”
There was a chance he might be able to buy it back.
Raissa looked at him and shook her head. “I don’t know. He didn’t tell me. I can try to find out for you, if you’d like.”
“If you would,” Ky said.
There was always the chance the one missing piece of the puzzle, the crucial one, was among the pieces he didn’t have.
Chapter Five
Munich, Germany
It was galling, infuriating, to be called before his superiors and his seniors at the University to be chastised this way. Heinrich been careless, true, claiming Mueller’s work as his own, but they always wanted results, the name of the University in all the papers and they certainly hadn’t asked such questions of him when he succeeded.
It infuriated him.
When he didn’t succeed, didn’t turn the archeological world on its ear?
He was called before them.
Heinrich Zimmer strode down the stone-walled hall of the University past the students, oblivious to them as anger darkened his vision.
When he didn’t succeed, or didn’t succeed fast enough, it was all on him. They called his methods into question, his deeds, his actions. Everything.
How dare they!
They wanted the Tomb of the Djinn found, the Horn itself if possible. And the Heart of the Gods.
Why had he gone into archaeology in the first place? Heinrich asked himself bitterly.
For fame and fortune?
Because it was a career that would annoy his father and enable him to travel the world?
Because women were impressed with it, imagining scenes from American movies and not endless days in dust and dirt with brushes, trowels and tweezers.
He’d become an archeologist for all of those reasons, to some extent, especially for that last. Not that it had done him the least good.
Fortunately he learned early how to benefit from the labor of others, befriending them, earning their trust, even bedding some of them if necessary before presenting their work as his own. As he had with Mueller. It had taken some groveling, some explaining, waving it away as a simple mistake, easily rectified.
He’d done his days of servitude on dig sites, he’d had to, but no more, now he had others to do those chores.
Still, all they could do to him these days was to pull his academic credentials. That only mattered so much once you had gained a certain measure of fame or could claim prejudice and conspiracy. Fools. Something which his other source of funding, the Church of Christ in the World, had a great deal of experience. If he could convince them of it―not a difficult undertaking he knew―they would be more than willing to help him.
A very distant sect of the Catholic Church with strong leanings toward the belief that the Bible, complete as it stood, both Old and New Testaments, was the direct Word of God, the Church of Christ in the World was determined to prove all of the Bible’s mysteries. Such proof being all they believed they needed in the face of secular doubt to declare that their version of Christianity was the correct, true one and that all others, all other religions and faiths, were therefore patently false.
Including Islam and Judaism.
Somehow they’d learned of the search for the Tomb of the Djinn.
The legendary Djinn, or what some called Genii, who in some versions of the Old Testament helped Solomon raise the Temple. Some called them Demons. Some sects of Islam believed Djinn were both light and dark and looked at good Djinn in the same way some Christians did guardian angels. Those of the Church believed if they could capture a dark Djinn they could prove all Djinn were demons and therefore evil. That only Solomon had ever controlled them and so all who claimed affinity with them were therefore possessed by demons and evil. So therefore Islam was false and once they proved that it followed that all of Islam was false.
Such a claim was ridiculous. That it might precipitate worldwide outrage, fury on the part of some and possibly worse on the part of others didn’t bother them in the least… In fact they welcomed it, envisioning some kind of holy war.
The end times.
None of that bothered Heinrich either. He didn’t believe any of it.
All he wanted to do was to find the Tomb and claim what was in it. Put it on the world stage with his name on it. Become rich and famous, appear before the media. The whole world would know him as the one who had found the fabled Tomb of the Djinn.
Nothing else mattered.
Let them try to pull his academic credentials then.
Nor was the Church particularly scrupulous about his methods. They had been very clear about that. To them the end most definitely justified the means. With a worldwide apocalypse as their ultimate goal, they were hardly concerned with being scrupulous where unbelievers were concerned. Dreams of the End of Days and the Second Coming were all that mattered to them.
All that concerned Heinrich was that they were willing to throw large sums of money and resources at him to achieve their goals. That suited him very well…and if they didn’t always know what he used the money for…well…
He chuckled. A man had his needs and his pleasures.
Then there were his dreams of late… Dreams undoubtedly triggered by his days at the dig site. Dreams that thrilled him. Dreams of power, of holding the Horn of the Djinn in his own hands, a ram’s horn chased in copper and inlaid with jewels. Dreams of blowing it to summon the Djinn while a voice whispered to him sibilantly…
‘What would it be to hold the power of a God in your hands, what if you could summon the mighty Djinn…make them serve you?’
He could see the Djinn in his dreams… Powerful figures. The ghul that so looked like men, the ifrit shifting from man to hyena, the sila smokelike, amorphous, changeable… And then there were the marid in the form of men...incredibly handsome men… The kind of men Heinrich had always envied and secretly hated. He was tall enough, his time in the gym and tanning beds had buffed, cut and sculpted his body, but he didn’t have the money…yet…to change the soft lines of his face, the weak chin, into something more commanding…or to restore the hairline that was steadily receding despite the shampoos.
He was eager to return to the dig. There he had power.
In his pocket, his fingers toyed with the worry stone hidden there, turned and played with it.
He’d found it at the dig site, a little thing. It might have been an amulet once upon a time. Whatever had once been carved on its face had been blurred to illegibility by time.
‘Let us in… We can make you beautiful,’ the voices promised, softly. ‘We can give you such power as you have never dared dream of…’
In his mind’s eye he could see it, see himself. His own face, only better, firmer, his hair thick as it had been only a few years before, his own form, tall, his tousled hair windswept, standing before an army, a dark and terrible army.
Chapter Six
Ky found himself glancing at his watch for the third or fourth time, not wanting to admit he was becoming concerned as he waited for Raissa to arrive. He glanced at the door, almost willed it to open. The boys were unnaturally quiet, too, the tension rising. She hadn’t seemed unhappy when she left the day before and she’d given every indication of returning.
Maybe she’d changed her mind and decided not to come back.
He didn’t want to admit he was worried. She’d survived by herself in this country so far, he reminded himself.
But…
It wasn’t a culture typically kind to women alone, although Egypt was far better than many Middle Eastern countries, but as with every culture the farther you got from the cities the more entrenched old and sometimes outdated ideas still held. The laws here weren’t always kind, and the penalties could be harsh, very harsh. If she’d run into trouble…
Would she think to call him? She’d only known him a few days.
Still…if she was desperate or in trouble? He hoped she would.
Another uneasy thought went through him. An even worse one, as far as he was concerned.
What if she’d gotten a better offer? There were other teams around and everyone looked for good people. She’d seemed happy, but…it was a chance. If she had how much did she know? How much had they revealed, how much inadvertently, of what they really searched for?
Or had that been the real purpose for her visit? To gain their trust.
If that were true…if she had…
Then he was a much worse judge of character than he’d thought and he didn’t want to believe he’d misjudged so badly.
He’d made a few phone calls to verify her bona fides. Her last legitimate employer had given her high praise and had been concerned about how she fared. He’d even admitted he’d wished he could have helped her out of the country.
A shadow appeared in the doorway and a dark abaya-clad figure darted into the room.
“My apologies for being late, Professor,” Raissa said, ducking her head, apologetically.
“Where have you been? Why didn’t you tell me you might be late?” he said, a little more sharply than he intended.
A little taken aback by the sharpness, her eyes widened in surprise.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t intend to. I thought to bring you these,” she said, withdrawing two thick carefully wrapped packets from beneath the folds of the abaya and setting them on the desk in front of him.
Ky looked at them then reached out and touched one.
He looked at her.
All he could see of her, as she reached up to unfasten the face covering, were her beautiful blue eyes. Then the face covering dropped away and he could see her fine features, the straight nose, the firm perfectly shaped mouth. And those eyes, watching him steadily.
If the bundles were what he thought they were then he very probably owed her an apology.
He didn’t even want to think of the risk she’d taken to get them.
Part of him wanted to shake her for taking such a chance. Another part wanted to hug her.
She pushed the hood of the abaya back and looked at him, steadily, evenly.
Neither packet was small.
Reaching into his pocket, he drew out his pocket knife to cut the twine with which they were bound and opened the first packet.
On top was a pair of white cotton gloves, proof of the care she’d taken. Beneath were pieces of clay tablets atop pieces of papyri. Each piece of papyri, each piece of clay tablet, had been cautiously packaged, packed and sealed in individual plastic bags.
Ky touched the first piece of sealed papyrus and let out a breath.
“You probably shouldn’t ask how I came by them,” Raissa said, carefully, her blue eyes watching him warily, “but carbon dating will confirm the date as being around the time of the other pieces you have, I’m sure.”
“You went back.”
She shrugged. “Yes.”
Amazed, speechless, he could only stare at her. If she’d been caught… The penalty for stealing in this country was quite severe, even if she’d only been taking back that which had been stolen. She’d taken a hell of a risk.
“The sons didn’t know what they had. I did. I brought everything I could find that I thought might help,” she said, quietly.
He looked at her. “I owe you an apology.”
Those blue eyes met his at first solemnly and then with a glint of amusement.
“For what? You don’t know me and you’ve no reason to trust me.”
Ky frowned a little. True as it was, the mirror of her words to his own distrust made him uncomfortable. She’d done nothing to deserve it.
“There are some hieroglyphs on some of those papyri that you really should see,” she said, gently.
He looked at her. She smiled a little, gave him a small smile. Apology accepted, graciously.
Move on.
“Show me,” he said.
Letting out a sigh of relief, she ducked her head as she visibly relaxed.
She bent a little over the desk to pick through the plastic envelopes, searching for the right ones.
Her scent reached him again, sweet with that hint of spice. She drew her shimmering hair over the other shoulder with one hand to get it out of the way before leaning on the desk. It fell in a rippling stream, framing her face.
Once again he was conscious of her in ways that he shouldn’t be. He hadn’t wanted to admit her presence was more than welcome or that his fear had been for her first, and then for his research. That was a first.
Ky caught himself examining her profile, the classic lines of it, the curve of her mouth, the long slender column of her throat, the inviting curve of her shoulder.
“Here,” Raissa said, “this one…and this…”
She turned to look at him and caught the look in his eyes.
For a moment she went still, as their gazes locked and her pretty lips parted on an intake of breath.
A flush of heat went through him.
Recalling himself, Ky began to read through her translations of some of the pieces of papyrus and his heart rate picked up for an entirely different reason.
If she wasn’t mistaken in her translation then the architect was discussing the building of a tomb out in the Gilf Kebir, translated as ‘great barrier’, a massive plateau that was the most distinctive geological feature in this remote part of Egypt, encompassing parts of Libya to the west and the Sudan to the south.
Certainly the ancient peoples knew of it, petroglyphs were etched into its rocks, the most famous of which had been used in a movie.
However, most of the Gilf Kebir gave a new meaning to inaccessible and inhospitable.
In his earliest days of study Ky had written a paper speculating that before the pyramids, the priests and priestesses of early Egypt had used the Gilf Kebir as their final resting place, unlike many who built their tombs along the Nile.
That paper hadn’t been received well.
For a moment, Ky stood frozen, staring at the papyrus.
Here in his hand was confirmation that the tombs he’d proposed might in fact exist. They weren’t just his imagination, an extrapolation, a wild fancy cobbled together from references he’d found here and there and a single statement in an early dynasty Pharaoh’s tomb.