The Pyramid of Doom_A Novel

by Andy McDermott

  “Come on!” Shaban barked impatiently. “Harder!”

  The men increased their efforts, straining to lift the heavy lid. A deeper grind came from inside the sarcophagus, then with a jolt it opened. Grunting, they raised the silver figure of Osiris to the full height of the jacks … revealing another figure inside.

  But this was not a sculpture. This was Osiris himself.

  Or what was left of him. The body was mummified, tightly wrapped in a discolored shroud, arms folded over its chest. The head was covered by a death mask, silver and gold shaped to match the face beneath. Unlike the famous burial masks of pharaohs like Tutankhamen and Psusennes, this was surprisingly modest, lacking their elaborate headdresses. If the mask was an accurate representation of the dead ruler, Osiris had possessed a surprisingly youthful appearance for one so powerful and revered.

  Everyone leaned closer to look, even Kralj glancing up from his work. The recess in which the body lay had been matched almost perfectly to its shape, less than half an inch to spare all around it. The lid had its own precisely shaped indentation set into the solid metal.

  Osir gazed down at the man from whom he had taken his name. “Osiris,” he whispered. “The god-king, granter of eternal life …”

  “You almost sound like you believe it,” Nina scoffed.

  “A month ago, would you have believed Osiris was not just a myth?” he countered. “Perhaps there’s more truth here than either of us thought.”

  “Not your version of the truth. You know, the skip-the-awkward-parts one you push on your followers.”

  “Who is to say that my interpretation of the story of Osiris is any less valid than another?” said Osir smugly. “In fact, I’d say that this”—he indicated the mummy—“makes it more valid. I found the tomb of Osiris because I was destined to find it. It proves I really do possess the spirit of Osiris. Wouldn’t you say?”

  “No, and neither would you if you were actually being honest with the dopes who hand you their money.” Osir merely chuckled, but she noticed Shaban’s face tensing once more.

  Before she could remark on it, Kralj looked up from his microscope. “Mr. Osir!”

  Osir went to him. “What’s the result of the test?”

  Kralj carefully removed a slide from the microscope. “The test result,” he said excitedly, “is … positive. There are spores of a yeast strain present.”

  Osir could barely contain his exultation. “Oh yes! Yes!” He clenched his fists in glee. “I was right! The story of the bread of Osiris was true—and it’s going to make me rich, Sebak, rich beyond belief!” He clasped his hands around his brother’s shoulders and shook him. “Rich!”

  Shaban seemed disgusted. “Money. Is that all that matters to you?”

  “Of course not.” Osir grinned and lowered his voice to a fake whisper. “There is the sex too!” He cackled.

  “You are pathetic,” Shaban said coldly. “A disgrace to our family, and an insult to the gods. And I am no longer going to let that insult stand.” The gun came up … and pointed at his brother’s chest.

  Osir at first didn’t seem to register it, his mind refusing to accept what his eyes were seeing. “What are you doing, Sebak?” he finally said with a half laugh, which faded as he looked into Shaban’s face and saw nothing there but anger and hatred. “Sebak? What is this?”

  “This is the end, my brother,” he spat. “You have had your pleasures, you have had everything that you never worked for and never deserved!” He pushed Osir back against the sarcophagus.

  Fear rose through Osir as he realized his brother was deadly serious. He looked desperately at the troopers. “Someone—someone take his gun.” The men stared back, stone-faced. “Help me!”

  “They are not your followers,” hissed Shaban with a thin, sneering smile. “They are mine. All your followers will now worship me—or they will die.”

  Berkeley backed away nervously. “What’s—what’s going on?”

  “What’s going on, Dr. Berkeley,” said Shaban, “is that I am taking my rightful place as the head of the temple. I am taking my birthright!” He glared at the mummy behind Osir—then spat on it. “Osiris—pah! Set was the stronger brother. Set was the greater brother, but he was kept down by Osiris out of fear!” He was shouting now, spittle flying from his mouth. “That time is over! My time has come! I am taking what is mine!” His voice rose to a demented scream. “I am Set! I am reborn!”

  Osir stared at him in horror. “What … what’s wrong with you?” he gasped. “You’re not Set—I’m not Osiris! We—we are the sons of a baker, Sebak! Nobody has been reborn—it’s not real! I made it all up! You know that, you were there when I did it!”

  “When you invoke a god, you make that god real,” said Shaban, suddenly chillingly calm. “You make them all real. Your followers worship you as Osiris, so you are Osiris. I am the brother of Osiris—so I am Set. I am the god of darkness, of chaos, of death—and it is my time to rule!”

  “You’ve—you’ve gone mad!” Osir spluttered. “What’s happened to you?”

  The rage returned. “What’s happened to me? Only you could not know, Khalid! All our lives, you have been given everything, and I got nothing. You were the favorite son, I was the inferior. You tricked your way to fame and fortune, and I was forced into the army. You had money and women, and I was burned alive!” He ripped at his shirt, exposing his chest. It was as hideously scarred as his face, the injuries extending down his body. “If Khaleel hadn’t pulled me out, I would have died. And did you even come to see me in the hospital? No!”

  “Someone’s got big brother issues,” Nina whispered to Eddie.

  “Someone’s got fucking lunatic issues,” he whispered back.

  “I was … I was on location,” Osir said in panicked apology. “I couldn’t get away.”

  “For two months?” Shaban snarled. “No! I know what you were doing. You were traveling the world, having sex with whores!”

  Osir still had some defiance in him. “Oh, now I see. It’s not the money or the fame that made you so jealous. It’s that the fire left you less of a man!”

  The rage that flared inside Shaban was so fierce, he couldn’t even speak. Instead, he smashed his brother’s face with his gun, sending a spurt of blood across the coffin lid. Macy gasped, and even Eddie flinched.

  Osir slumped, clutching his head. Shaban forced his emotions back under control. “Get that out of there,” he said to Diamondback, jabbing a finger at the mummy.

  Diamondback and one of the troopers reached into the sarcophagus. Before Nina even had a chance to protest at the desecration, they hauled the body out of its recess and dumped it unceremoniously on the floor. The burial mask was jarred loose, the corpse’s wizened, eyeless face exposed.

  Shaban aimed the gun at his brother. “Get in,” he ordered.

  Osir stared at him in pained bewilderment. “What?”

  “Into the sarcophagus! Now!”

  “Oh my God,” said Nina as realization struck her. “Khalid, he’s playing out the real story of Osiris and Set—how Set tricked Osiris into climbing into a coffin and sealed him in!”

  Shaban smiled malevolently at her. “I’m glad someone knows the true story.”

  “You going to chop off his knob and feed it to a fish, too?” Eddie asked.

  “I won’t need to cut him into fourteen pieces this time. My brother has no Isis to resurrect him.” He looked back at Osir. “Get in.”

  Osir stood firm. “The Osirian Temple won’t follow you, Sebak—they worship Osiris, not Set!”

  “You’re wrong, brother.” Shaban proudly indicated the troopers. “While you were drinking and gambling and whoring, I was finding the true believers in the temple, and you never even noticed. I did not need to be a movie star—strength and power brought them to my side. They have pledged themselves to me, and the rest will do the same … or pay the price.”

  “What price?” Osir demanded.

  “Kralj and the other scientists h
ave been working for me, not you. The yeast used to make the bread of Osiris can do more than give eternal life to those I decide are worthy. It can bring death to those who oppose me!”

  Nina gave Eddie a worried look. “The lab, in Switzerland—they were talking about genetically modifying the yeast.”

  “That’s right, Dr. Wilde,” said Shaban. “The spores will be spread across the world by my followers. They will put them in crops, animal feed, even the water. Anyone who does not eat the bread of Set”—a momentary smile of triumph at the new name—“anyone who will not worship their new god, will die as their own cells poison them.”

  “You’re insane,” said Osir quietly. “And you wonder why Father preferred me?”

  The mention of their father spurred Shaban back to anger. “Get in the coffin! Get in! Get in!” He struck Osir again and again with the gun, then screamed an order. “Put him in there! Now!”

  Four men grabbed the struggling Osir, forcing him into the recess. It was a good six inches too short to fit him, and narrower. He tried to pull free, but Shaban hammered the gun brutally down on to his chest. Osir writhed in pain, winded.

  “I am Set!” Shaban shrieked. “And I am taking what is mine!”

  He released the jacks.

  Osir only managed a gasp of terror before the heavy metal lid fell with a thunderous whump … and a horrible crack of bones from his protruding feet and arms. Macy screamed and looked away. Blood gushed from the silver coffin.

  Shaban continued to beat at the lid, denting the precious metal with his gun. “I am Set!” he roared. “I am the god!”

  “No,” said Nina, shocked and disgusted. “He was right. You are insane.”

  He whipped around, finger quivering on the trigger as every tendon in his body tensed with fury—

  But he didn’t fire.

  “Nina,” Eddie said urgently, “if a guy with a gun says he’s a god … humor him!”

  Shaban drew in a shuddering breath, then backed away. “No,” he said, forcing himself to calm down. “No, my brother was right. This tomb should not be despoiled. Osiris is back in his coffin where he belongs. But you?” He regarded Nina, Eddie, and Macy with contempt. “You don’t deserve to die in the tomb of a god.” He moved around the sarcophagus. “Take them to the surface and shoot them,” he told his men as he picked up the jackal-headed jar. “Where is the case?”

  As Diamondback and the other troopers hustled Macy, Nina, and Eddie to the entrance, one man turned to reveal that he was carrying a sturdy case made of impact-resistant composites on his back. He unfastened the harness clip on his chest and shrugged it off, then opened it to reveal a lining of thick yellow polyurethane memory foam. Shaban carefully pressed the jar into the bottom protective layer, then slowly lowered the lid until the catches clicked shut. “Guard it with your life, Hashem,” he told the trooper. “Kralj, stay with him. Don’t let it out of your sight.” The scientist nodded, waiting as Hashem donned the case and harness like a backpack.

  Shaban turned to see Berkeley and Hamdi both still staring at the bloodied sarcophagus. “Gentlemen,” he said. “I hope there is nothing wrong.”

  “Not at all,” Hamdi bleated. “You have my full support, as always. I’ll make sure the SCA never learns about this place—it will be our secret. Your secret,” he hurriedly corrected himself.

  “Good. And you, Dr. Berkeley?”

  “Ah, I, er,” Berkeley mumbled. “I’m … yeah. I’m on board.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.” Shaban gave him a menacing smile. “Now go back to the hovercraft. Leave this place for the dead.” As Berkeley and Hamdi quickly made their exit, he stood before the sarcophagus. “Good-bye, my brother,” he whispered, before turning to leave, returning the tomb to its state of eternal silence.

  TWENTY-SIX

  He’s completely insane,” said Nina to Khaleel as the Egyptian officer strode up the passage ahead of her. “You can’t seriously believe he’s the reincarnation of Set.”

  “It doesn’t matter what I believe,” Khaleel replied. “It matters what he believes—and he believes a great deal of money will repay the debt he owes me for saving his life. He’s also promised me a position of power if his plan succeeds—and if it doesn’t, then I am still rich. So I thought: Why not?”

  “Because he’s a psychopath? If his plan works, millions of people will die!”

  Khaleel shrugged. “We are always being warned of the dangers of overpopulation these days.”

  The group came to a stop. After making their way back up through the pyramid, traversing the pit left by the Lady of Rainstorms on a rope attached to the ceiling by spring-loaded climbing cams, they had reached the top of the enormous vertical shaft. “What’re we going to do?” Macy whispered with growing panic to Nina. “We’re almost at the surface, and—and they’re going to kill us!”

  “They’re not going to kill us,” said Nina. “We’ll get out of this.” But despite her defiant words, she felt as frightened as Macy inside. They were unarmed, outnumbered … and out of options. She looked back to Eddie, hoping to see some hint on his face that he had thought of a plan. But his expression was nothing but grim.

  Everyone bunched up at the bottleneck. The trooper bearing the case, Hashem, was first to the stone bridge. “Come on, hurry up,” Shaban growled. Kralj gave him an uncertain look, then followed a few steps behind. Diamondback jabbed his gun at Nina and Macy. They hesitantly stepped onto the narrow crossing, the chain rattling with the extra weight. More troopers went after them.

  About to step onto the bridge, Eddie stared at the chain—then his gaze snapped down to the cogwheel beside the beam.

  And the piece of stone wedged beneath it.

  “Nina,” he called, “remember when we came in?” She looked back at him, as did Macy. “There’s gonna be a whole lotta shakin’ going on.”

  Her eyes widened. “Macy, grab on!” she cried—

  Eddie kicked away the stone.

  Freed at last, the weight of the large cylindrical block pulled the chain through the pulley—and turned the cogwheels.

  Nina and Macy wrapped their arms around the bridge as the cogs’ teeth bashed at the protrusions on each side of the stone beam, making it jolt violently. Hashem, farthest from the pounding wheel, staggered, then dropped his gun and dived for the far ledge. He caught the edge, scrabbling for grip.

  Dr. Kralj was not so lucky. Caught completely off guard, he plunged down the shaft with a terrified, echoing scream. Behind Macy, two troopers were thrown into the void, a third man desperately trying to hang on before he too disappeared into the darkness below.

  The last man on the bridge managed to throw himself backward, colliding with Eddie and Diamondback and sending the remainder of the group tumbling down the sloping passage. Eddie shoved the man off him and kicked Diamondback in the stomach. “Nina!” he yelled as he jumped up. “Get across, get out!”

  She was already edging forward, Macy following. “What about you?” Nina shouted back. “Come on!”

  But his end of the bridge was rocking too forcefully for him to get on. Instead he slammed a boot into the cultist’s stomach and looked for his gun. The MP7 had landed near the edge of the ledge. He lunged for it—

  Diamondback’s revolver boomed. The American’s shot was wild—but it was close enough. The bullet ripped a fingertip-sized chunk of flesh out of Eddie’s muscular forearm. He roared in pain and clutched the wound, any thought of grabbing the gun forgotten as he wavered on the edge.

  “Eddie!” Nina screamed.

  “Get out of here!” he shouted. “Get the jar!”

  She looked around and saw Hashem clinging to the ledge a few feet away. The case was still on his back. She scrambled to solid ground and stood before the trooper. He had managed to pull his shoulders above the shaft’s lip, but with the bulky case affecting his center of gravity he was having trouble finding enough purchase to climb higher.

  “Gimme the case and I’ll pull you up!” Nina cried. She
reached for the container, finding it was firmly attached to his equipment webbing. Thinking he wouldn’t be so dumb as to fight her from his precarious position, she pulled at it—

  He grabbed her ankle.

  “You gotta be kidding me!” she said.

  He leered up at her and gripped her ankle with his other hand, getting enough leverage to twist her leg out from under her. She stumbled, landing on her backside. He clamped one hand around her calf.

  Macy reached the end of the bridge and jumped up to kick at his arms. “Let her go!”

  “No, get the case!” Nina said. She drew back her other foot, her eyes meeting the cultist’s. “Don’t make me do this.”

  His only reply was a look of angry determination as he hauled himself higher, fingers digging painfully into her leg.

  Her expression hardened. “Your choice.”

  She smashed her boot into his face. Hashem’s head snapped back, and his hands slipped down her leg—then closed vise-like around her ankle once more, his weight pulling her toward the edge.

  Macy grabbed the case, but couldn’t get it free of the webbing. She yanked at the straps, trying to release them.

  Nina kicked again, the crack as his nose broke loud enough to be heard even over the booby trap’s pounding. “Get!” she yelled, punctuating each word with another strike. “Off! Me! You! Asshole!”

  Even through his pain, Hashem clung with the strength of the fanatical. He kept wrenching at Nina’s leg, every tug bringing her closer to the vertiginous shaft.

  Another kick, and one hand slipped free—only for him to reach to the webbing on his chest and pull a knife from a sheath, preparing to stab the blade into Nina’s leg—

  She kicked him again.

  Not in the face, but on his other hand.

  The pain as her boot heel hit her shin was intense—but it was nothing compared with the snap of a broken finger. The knife clanged to the floor as the cultist finally screamed, whipping away as gravity pulled him over the edge … just as Macy released the clip securing the webbing. He slipped through the harness and vanished into the void, shrieking all the way down.