The Egyptian
by Layton Green
At a mausoleum in Cairo’s most notorious cemetery, a mercenary receives a package containing a silver test tube suspended in hydraulic stasis.
An investigative reporter tracking rogue biomedical companies is terrified by the appearance of a mummified man outside her Manhattan apartment.
A Bulgarian scientist who dabbles in the occult makes a startling discovery in his underground laboratory.
These seemingly separate events collide when Dominic Grey and Viktor Radek, private investigators of cults, are hired by the CEO of an Egyptian biomedical firm to locate stolen research integral to the company’s new life extension product. However, after witnessing the slaughter of a team of scientists by the remnants of a dangerous cult thought long abandoned, Grey and Viktor turn from pursuers to pursued.
From the gleaming corridors of visionary laboratories to the cobblestone alleys of Eastern Europe to a lost oasis in the Sahara, Grey and Viktor must sift through science and myth to uncover the truth behind the Egyptian and his sinister biotech—before that truth kills them.
Copyright © 2011 by Layton Green
All rights reserved.
First Ward 2011 Ebook edition
Cover Art by Daniel Will-Harris
Ebook creation by Dellaster Design
No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from the author.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any semblance to actual persons is entirely coincidental.
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Also By Layton Green
To my son
That time of year thou mayest in me behold
When yellow leaves, or one, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
In me thou seest the twilight of such day
As after sunset fadeth in the west,
Which by and by black night doth take away,
Death’s second self, that seals up all in rest.
In me thou see’st the glowing of such fire
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,
As the death-bed whereon it must expire
Consumed with that which it was nourish’d by.
This thou perceivest, which makes thy love more strong,
To love that well which thou must leave ere long.
—William Shakespeare, Sonnet 73
The City of the Dead, Cairo, Egypt
S
iti hummed to himself as he picked his way through the crypts and mausoleums shrouded by eerie blue fog. He thought he had outgrown the nervous childhood habit at Cambridge, where he graduated first in his class in biomedical engineering and gained the hand of Halima, a beautiful Cairene girl he never would have dreamed of approaching back home.
The humming resurfaced when the gambling debts started mounting, and reached a feverish crescendo when he discovered what was really going on at his company’s compound. Now, as he dodged the tombs and piles of human detritus, peering over his shoulder with every step, he had to fight to keep the humming from becoming a siren call to the thieves and murderers that populated the cemetery after dark.
Why would Dorian choose such a godforsaken place to conduct this transaction? There were sections of the City of the Dead that had become a literal home to thousands of Cairo’s less fortunate citizens, but this particular area was avoided by all but the most desperate.
And that, Siti thought, would be me.
The damnable fog made it worse: it wasn’t the thick soupy mess of a London fog, but a union of pollution and cool night air. The faint blue sheen gleaming off the millions of tombs reminded Siti of a living, phantasmagoric El Greco.
Siti maintained a constant rhythm: step, nervous glance, clutch shoulder bag even tighter. He tripped over a dark form on the ground, panicking when he almost dropped the bag, even though the contents were quite secure.
He looked down, and the dark form stirred. It was a child, asleep on a cardboard box. Siti cursed and pressed forward.
The path ended at a mosque-shaped mausoleum. A bulky man in a duster swung to his feet off the wall surrounding the mausoleum, then cupped his hands to light a cigarette. “Top o’ the evenin’ to you,” Dorian said.
Siti couldn’t stop glancing around the cemetery. As dangerous as it was doing business with Dorian, crossing Siti’s employer was worse.
Siti thrust his shoulder bag at Dorian. “As agreed.”
Dorian flicked a wrist, and two men appeared. They frisked Siti and carried the bag to Dorian. Dorian unzipped the bag and extracted a small metal safe.
Siti gave him the code, and watched Dorian remove the lid and contemplate the contents: an even smaller square container made of aluminium oxynitride, a transparent ceramic used in body armor. The container was attached to the walls of the safe via slender iron rods. Suspended in hydraulic stasis within the inner container was a test tube sheathed in silver.
“Fancy,” Dorian murmured. He handed the safe to one of his men, who took it to a tall, sandy-haired man standing in the shadows of the mausoleum. Dorian said, “I must be getting soft in the arse in my old age, trading the paper you racked up for a wrinkle cream.”
Siti almost collapsed with nervous laughter. He had set a price that would pay off his debts, and allow him to take his family and disappear. The price was so low it was laughable, but Siti didn’t have the time or the means to prove true value. And if he told Dorian what that test tube really contained, he’d never believe him.
“If my buyer tests this and changes his mind,” Dorian said, “next time you’ll be coming here to visit your family.”
“You won’t have to worry about that,” Siti muttered.
• • •
Siti’s shame consumed him as he returned through the cemetery. How had he reached this place in life?
He knew how. He had an illness, and its name was gambling. Now he had to gather his beloved wife and sons, tonight, and go someplace where they could never be found. His wife would never forgive him, but at least they would be alive, which was a better deal than if he failed to pay Dorian.