Easy Go

by Michael Crichton

  Pierce moved on to the burial chamber. The great statue of Anubis frowned at him from the entrance to the treasury. His match went out; blackness closed in. Quickly, he lit another.

  He faced the gilded shrine. Once more, its immensity astonished him. He squeezed around to the open doors and stepped inside the four shrines, moving next to the sarcophagus. The lid was still blocked up as they had left it. He stared down at the Pharaoh Meketenre.

  The face was composed, neither relaxed nor deathly rigid. It had a peaceful, convinced look; the eyes looked forward, straight ahead, as if awaiting some predestined goal.

  “I would give anything to know what you thought at the moment you died,” Pierce said.

  His voice echoed in the tomb.

  The flame went out.

  He returned to the camp at noon. As he came over a sandy rise, he looked down at the tents and could hardly believe what he saw.

  Four black Land Rovers had pulled up, and a dozen armed guards were leaping out, encircling the camp.

  He drove down and parked alongside the Antiquities Service cars. Conway came up, shaking his head.

  “Bad news,” he said. “We lose.”

  Pierce glanced around at the guards.

  A thin man with a glowering, moody face came over to them. He approached gravely.

  “Mr. Pierce?”

  “Yes.”

  “I am Ali Champs,” he said, bowing slightly. “Mr. Iskander’s replacement.”

  “Replacement? Has something happened?”

  “Yes,” said Ali Champs. “Something has happened.”

  18. Bad News

  ALI VARESE STOOD AS Lord Grover entered and waved him to a seat. The director’s face was stern, but his manner seemed friendly enough. Of course, that meant nothing with Egyptians; they could smile sweetly as they ran you through.

  “I am interested to meet you at last,” Varese said carefully.

  Lord Grover nodded and waited.

  “The association between England and Egypt in archaeological work is a long and honorable one,” Varese said.

  Lord Grover lit a cigarette.

  “It has been marked by honesty and fair dealing on both sides.”

  What the hell? Grover thought. He smiled and said, “I have always believed that the tradition should be upheld.”

  “Precisely.”

  Varese shifted papers on his desk.

  “What I have to say does not concern you directly,” Varese said. “But it concerns your associates. I must speak in the strictest confidence. No word of what I tell you may pass this room.”

  “You can count on me.”

  “Today, I received some remarkable news. It arrived, oddly enough, in an anonymous letter.”

  “Hmmm.”

  “You will be quite surprised to hear this,” Varese said.

  A boy came with tea.

  “Sugar?” Varese asked.

  “No, thank you,” Grover said, patting his stomach, trying to hide the fact that it was churning nervously. “I must watch calories.”

  “Yes,” Varese said. “I must also. The curse of old age. Old men become cautious and timid in all respects, I fear.”

  Grover said nothing. He tried to relax, to loosen his taut muscles, to keep his face calm. He could not be sure what Varese knew, but clearly he knew something.

  “However, I was telling you the news,” Varese continued. “In a sense, it is bad news. In a sense, good news. It seems that a band of robbers have discovered a new pharaonic tomb in the region of the Valley of the Kings.”

  Grover sat upright. “No!”

  “Indeed,” Varese said mildly. His eyes were watchful. “I said you would be surprised. You will be more surprised when you hear the rest.”

  “I can…I can hardly believe it. Robbers? Astonishing.”

  “Frankly, I have difficulty myself. But Egypt is a land of surprises, particularly where the ancients are concerned.”

  “Yes.”

  “And we have corroborative evidence. You see, we know who the robbers are.”

  “Excellent! Well done!” As he spoke, Grover felt a twisting pain in his stomach.

  “Thank you,” Varese said, sipping the tea. “We move swiftly. In fact, justice has already been meted out.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes.” He glanced at his watch. “Those who attempt to steal our national treasures will always receive harsh punishment. The robbers were executed by firing squad ten minutes ago.”

  Grover wanted to speak but found he could say nothing. Nothing at all.

  19. Good News

  VARESE WAITED SEVERAL MINUTES before continuing. He obviously relished this moment, and Grover hated him for it. Finally, he said, “It was a matter of small consequence. The thieves were pure riffraff, simple vagabonds. It’s really quite remarkable that they managed to take the pictures of the tomb and compose in English the letter which was sent to us. The pictures and letter are quite expert. You’d think it had all been planned by a trained archaeologist.”

  Grover found his voice. “How curious.”

  “Naturally,” Varese said, “this business represents a considerable embarrassment to the government. Neither the ransom note nor our efficient dealing with the criminals will be publicly announced. To announce that petty thieves have discovered a tomb is not in the interests of…shall I say, our national image? You understand, I am sure.”

  Grover frowned. He did not understand anything. “Why are you telling me all this?”

  “Because I had hoped you might help.”

  “I shall do whatever I can.”

  “Your generosity is well known,” Varese smiled. “We are most grateful. You see, the criminals died without revealing the hiding place of a cache of treasure. We know that the mastermind is still at large and have spread the word discreetly that if he reveals the hiding place to us by anonymous letter, we will not pursue him.”

  Varese chuckled. “I have no doubt that I shall receive such a letter shortly. The man must be quivering with panic at this very moment.”

  “I should think so,” Grover said, rubbing his palms together nervously.

  “However, that doesn’t solve the problem of the tomb. The government today has few available funds for the exploration of new monuments. This new discovery presents a problem in financing.”

  “I see.”

  “What the government needs is an interested person of considerable private wealth and humanistic concern who is willing to underwrite the cost of an expedition to search for the tomb.”

  “Ah.”

  “Naturally, should great treasures he discovered, you would be fully reimbursed, as was Carnarvon.”

  “That is very kind.”

  “And, of course, there would be great fame for all involved…”

  “I imagine so.”

  “But even with money, a final problem remains. We need a group of specialists to do the actual work. Our own position is rather difficult. We are informed of the existence of a tomb. Can we call in experts from throughout the world without arousing curiosity, embarrassing questions? How can we dispose of the fact that we know of this tomb before we start looking?”

  “Quite a problem.”

  “Indeed,” Varese said, nodding wisely, “Indeed,”

  “You’re in a terrible bind. What do you propose?”

  “I was wondering about the group that you now support so generously—Professor Barnaby’s expedition. Could they be diverted from their present project to search for the tomb?”

  Lord Grover sighed. “I doubt it. Professor Barnaby and his team are immensely dedicated, I don’t think they would wish to abandon their present work in the midst of their heroic effort.”

  “You might perhaps persuade them.”

  “You overestimate my powers, sir.”

  “But think of it.” Varese said. “They would be the acknowledged discoverers of a new Egyptian tomb! The world would applaud them. They would receive the highest praise. S
urely, you can make it a tempting proposition?”

  “Well, when you put it that way…”

  “The ransom letter has been kept secret,” Varese said. “The criminals have been executed. No one knows the true story, except us. Why don’t you take these pictures with you and show them to Barnaby? I think, they would excite him.”

  Grover took the envelope and slipped it into his breast pocket. “I will try, though I doubt I can change Professor Barnaby’s mind. He is a specialist, and I am not; and this scheme is so…well, to be plain, unbelievable.”

  “Then I will go to Luxor and speak to him myself.”

  “That’s a splendid idea!”

  Varese smiled. “Do you think it will work?”

  “If you can’t do it,” Grover said, “nobody can.”

  They sat morosely around the campfire, speaking little, occasionally glancing out at the guards. It was late afternoon. Earlier in the day, Pierce had questioned Ali Champs.

  “What’s happening?” he had asked, pointing to the troops. “Nothing.”

  That was, quite literally, true. The guards stood about, rifles on their shoulders, smoking cigarettes, talking quietly. “Why are they here?”

  “We are all awaiting orders.”

  “Orders? What orders?”

  “From Cairo,” Ali said, and then turned away. They could find out nothing more.

  At sunset, another Land Rover rumbled into the camp and came to a halt. Still more guards clambered out.

  “Christ,” Pierce said. He counted them; the total was up to sixteen. “And all I got is my trusty cobra pistol,” Conway said. Then, Lord Grover descended from the car, looking tired and sad. He was accompanied by a short man with white hair and a distinguished manner.

  “Monsieur Varese,” Barnaby said, leaping up.

  “What is this action?” Conway whispered to Pierce.

  “I don’t know.”

  “This is an outrage,” Barnaby was saying, “Why are these troops here? Why are we under guard?”

  Varese pursed his lips and ignored the question. “I am here on business. Very serious business. I think we had best speak in private.”

  “Oh,” Barnaby said.

  “Christ,” Pierce said. He caught Grover’s eye. Grover shook his head sadly. He was leaning against a Land Rover, smoking a cigarette, his features drawn with fatigue. No one from the camp approached him; they had all separated, as if realizing that, to huddle together would appear suspicious. Actually, they looked even more suspicious now, standing apart, stiffly nonchalant.

  “Come,” Varese said to Barnaby. “We will talk in your tent.”

  An hour later, Barnaby made the formal announcement. The expedition would change its plans and search for the so-called tomb. The others in the group struggled to keep the shock and relief from their faces. Varese pretended to be delighted with the group’s decision. He stayed for dinner at the camp, and Lord Grover, suddenly rejuvenated, produced a case of champagne to celebrate the new purpose of the expedition.

  Pierce got him alone later. “You bastard,” he said. “You enjoyed every minute of this.”

  “Not every minute,” Grover said. “I was quite disturbed when Mr. Varese told me the robbers had been caught and shot.”

  “Then they don’t think we did it?”

  Grover smiled. “Mr. Varese,” he said, “is a very clever man.”

  He would say no more. Pierce went back to Lisa and took her hand. She was smiling, radiantly happy.

  “We’re going to look for the tomb,” she said laughing. “It’s like a dream come true.”

  “Can you stand it out here in the desert?”

  “We have to get married first.”

  “I can stand anything, as long as you’re here.”

  “I know.”

  “You know?” he said.

  “Yes,” she said. “I know.”

  “We’ll get an engagement ring,” he said. “Alexandrite. Then we’ll get married in—where would you like to get married?”

  “In the embassy in Cairo.”

  “No. We’ll get married in Athens. And for our honeymoon, we’ll go—”

  “To my uncle’s villa in Capri.”

  “You’re damned right you will,” Lord Grover said, several yards away.

  “Eavesdropper,” Pierce said.

  “Have some more champagne,” Grover said, refilling their glasses.

  Pierce thought: so that’s why he bought champagne.

  “Who’s the best man?” Grover asked.

  “Don’t ask stupid questions,” Conway said. “I have seniority.”

  Later that night, Varese moved around the fire, talking to each of the members of the expedition in turn.

  “Tell me,” Varese said to Nikos, “do you think this tomb really exists?”

  “No,” Nikos said.

  “But the pictures were quite convincing.”

  “No,” Nikos said. “We could spend ten years out here and never find anything.”

  “There’s always a chance,” Varese said. “The whole thing has been quite extraordinary. Do you know how we first became suspicious? A scarab beetle was traced to Aswan.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. Our experts considered it fake but agreed it was unusually well made.”

  Varese took the beetle out of his pocket.

  Nikos did not blink. “Pretty,” he said.

  “Yes,” Varese said. He moved on. Conway bet him five dollars that the tomb didn’t exist. Varese seemed to find this amusing.

  When he came to Pierce, he stopped.

  “Yes,” he said, almost to himself. “You.”

  “Me?” Pierce was half drunk, giddy, with Lisa leaning on his shoulder.

  “Yes,” Varese said. “It was you. My congratulations.”

  “What for?”

  “Your engagement, of course.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I admire you.”

  Pierce nodded.

  “It must have been very difficult. But I think it will be better in the end.”

  “I don’t think I understand,” Pierce said slowly.

  “If I may be permitted,” Varese said. “A small gift for the new couple.”

  He nodded to a guard, who brought up a large cardboard box and handed it to Pierce.

  “With my best wishes,” Varese said. “You know, there was a time when I thought I might get killed. It was easy to be frightened.”

  Pierce frowned.

  With a final nod, Varese walked away.

  “What is it?” Lisa said. “Open it.”

  Pierce tore away the string and tape and lifted the lid. Inside, he found a black wig, a moustache, and a can of greasepaint.

  Also, two cans of beans and two cans of chicken soup.

  For a moment, he stared in stunned disbelief, and then, he began to laugh. He laughed until the tears ran down his cheeks, and Lisa, clutching him, laughed too. Together, they walked out into the desert, away from the camp, until they were alone, still laughing under the dark sky, with Egypt all around them.

  A Biography of Michael Crichton

  Michael Crichton (1942–2008) was a writer and filmmaker, best known as the author of Jurassic Park and the creator of ER. He was born in Chicago, Illinois, and raised in Roslyn, New York, along with his three siblings.

  Crichton graduated summa cum laude from Harvard College and received his MD from Harvard Medical School. As an undergraduate, he taught courses in anthropology at Cambridge University. He also taught writing at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology.

  While at Harvard Medical School, Crichton wrote book reviews for the Harvard Crimson and novels under the pseudonyms John Lange and Jeffery Hudson, among them A Case of Need, which won the Edgar Award for Best Mystery in 1969. In contrast to the carefully researched techno-thrillers that ultimately brought him to fame, the Lange and Hudson books are high-octane novels of suspense and action. Written with remarkable speed and gusto, these novels provided
Crichton with both the means to study at Harvard Medical School and the freedom to remain anonymous in case his writing career ended before he obtained his medical degree.

  The Andromeda Strain (1969), his first bestseller, was published under his own name. The movie rights for The Andromeda Strain were bought in February of his senior year at Harvard Medical School.

  Crichton also pursued an early interest in computer modeling, and his multiple-discriminant analysis of Egyptian crania, carried out on an IBM 7090, was published by the Peabody Museum in 1966.

  After graduation, Crichton was a postdoctoral fellow at the Salk Institute for Biological Studies, where he researched public policy with Dr. Jacob Bronowski. He continued to write and published three books in 1970: his first nonfiction book, Five Patients, and two more John Lange titles, Grave Descend and Drug of Choice. He also wrote Dealing or The Berkeley-to-Boston Forty-Brick Lost-Bag Blues with his brother Douglas, and it was later published under the pseudonym Michael Douglas.

  After deciding to quit medicine and pursue writing full-time, he moved to Los Angeles in 1970, at the age of twenty-eight. In addition to books, he wrote screenplays and pursued directing as well. His directorial feature film Westworld (1973), involving an innovative twist on theme parks, was the first to employ computer-generated special effects.

  Crichton continued his technical publications, writing an essay on medical obfuscation published by the New England Journal of Medicine in 1975 and a study of host factors in pituitary chromophobe adenoma published in Metabolism in 1980.

  He maintained a lifelong interest in computers and his pioneering use of computer programs for film production earned him an Academy Award for Technical Achievement in 1995. Crichton also won an Emmy, a Peabody, and a Writers Guild of America Award for ER. In 2002, a newly discovered dinosaur of the ankylosaur group was named for him: Crichtonsaurus bohlini.

  His groundbreaking, fast-paced narrative combined with meticulous scientific research made him one of the most popular writers in the world. His novels have been translated into thirty-eight languages, and thirteen have been made into films. Known for his techno-thrillers, he has sold more than 200 million books. He also published four nonfiction books, including an illustrated study of artist Jasper Johns, and two screenplays, Twister and Westworld.