“Ooooh—sounds dreamy!” she said, giggling. “But I’m afraid we’re about to sail.”
“Could we just talk to you for a minute?” I begged. “They sent us all the way here to Egypt—we’ll get fired if we don’t get the story!”
“Gee,” she said, looking concerned. “Well, okay, you can come on board—but just for a minute.”
Joe and I brushed past the steward and practically ran up the ramp onto the ship.
And what a ship it was! The Ramses II was a luxury yacht, built to carry up to fifty people. The decks were polished wood, the railings gleaming brass. Every cabin had a balcony and a picture window, and every detail screamed “first class.”
“Sweet!” Joe said, looking around. Then his eyes locked on Samantha Chilton, who, I have to admit, looked even more gorgeous close-up than she did on TV and all those magazine covers.
“Sweet,” Joe said again, this time obviously meaning her.
Yuck.
We shook hands, and Joe held on to hers way too long.
“The magazine wants us to do a big feature on you and your expedition,” I explained. “If it’s possible, we’d like to come along for the whole thing.”
“Oh. I see….,” she said, knitting her brows. “I’m sorry, but I already have this whole video crew coming.”
Joe’s face fell as Samantha’s brightened. “They’re going to tape the whole trip—the opening of the tomb, all the treasures, the mummy and everything—and then they’re going to make it into a TV special, and maybe even a reality series!”
“Well,” I suggested, “how about if we just concentrate on you?”
“Me?”
“Sure! You know, your feelings, your reactions. Millions of your fans will feel left out if they don’t get the ‘inside story.’”
She broke into a sudden, sunny smile. “Well, why not? There’s always room for more publicity, that’s my motto!”
As usual, Q had done his homework—his prediction that Samantha Chilton would invite us aboard had been right on the money.
“Hassan!” she called to the steward, “can you get a cabin made up for these two gentlemen?”
As the steward hustled up the ramp and went off to prepare our cabin, she turned back to us. “Gee, I’m sorry—I don’t even know your names!”
“I’m Joe Hardy,” Joe said, shaking her hand again, even longer this time. “Oh—and this is my brother, Frank.”
“Well, Frank and Joe, welcome aboard. We’re gonna have the time of our lives!”
She scrunched up her shoulders, twitched her pretty little nose, and made a happy, excited yip.
I made a mental note to warn Joe again about his crush on Samantha—we couldn’t afford to let it get in the way of our job. I could see why Joe found her so irresistible, despite her being such a girly girl—but this was going to be a dangerous mission, and we were going to have to keep our heads—and our hearts—clear.
Just then, the guy from the magazine picture in Beautiful People came out on deck and walked over to us. He was blond, at least six foot three, and had muscles like gigantic concrete blocks. He didn’t seem happy to see us.
He looked at Joe’s hand, still holding Samantha’s, and frowned. “What’s up?” he asked, in a gruff voice that matched his expression.
“Tommy! Hi, Poopsie!” Samantha gave him a kiss on the cheek, reaching her arms up and around his massive shoulders. “This is Joe Hardy, and this is his brother, Frank. They’re reporters—with Beautiful People magazine? And they’re going to come with us on the expedition, and do a big story all about me—isn’t that fabu?”
“Yeah. Fabu,” said Tommy. He looked at her intently. “You sure about this?” he asked. “We don’t need any excess baggage, you know? Besides, you don’t know these guys from a hole in the wall.”
“Oh, Poopsie,” Samantha said, pouting sweetly, “don’t worry—they’re from Beautiful People magazine! Remember, the more coverage we get for the expedition, the more money we’ll get for the TV rights!”
Turning to me and Frank, she added, “Tommy’s going to be the executive producer!”
Tommy frowned even more deeply “I don’t know,” he said. “If I were you, I’d ditch ’em both—right here, right now.”
“Well, you’re not me,” said Samantha, her hands on her hips. She was only about half his weight, and a good six inches shorter, but her personality could have pushed anybody around.
“Whatever,” Tommy said, backing down and relaxing his hands—they’d been balled up into fists ever since he’d first appeared. “I’ll see you back in the cabin.”
“Mwah!” Samantha said, blowing a kiss to his retreating figure. “Well, that’s that!” she told us, clapping her hands. “Don’t worry about Tommy—he’s a pussycat once you get to know him.”
I wasn’t sure I wanted to get to know “Poopsie,” pussycat or not.
“He was Mr. Universe a few years ago,” she told us. “Isn’t that cool?”
“So what is he, like, your bodyguard or something?” Joe asked.
“Bodyguard?” Samantha seemed to think this was a riot. She burst out laughing. “That’s a good one—no, he’s my boyfriend, actually Although now that you mention it, I’m going to appoint him my bodyguard, too—he’ll love that!”
She walked off down the deck toward her cabin, still laughing. Joe’s eyes followed her, disappointed but not defeated.
“That Tommy’s a real creep,” he said. “I can’t believe she’d go for a goon like him.”
“I’m sure once she gets to know you, she’ll drop him like a hot potato.”
I was joking, but once again, Joe didn’t get it. “You think so?” he said, flexing his muscles to see how they compared with Tommy’s.
They didn’t.
“No doubt, bro,” I said, clapping him on the back. “I mean, she can’t have known him more than a few weeks, right? She was with Roger Corson before that….”
“Hey—I’ll bet Tommy’s only interested in her because of the treasure!” Joe said.
“Could very well be,” I answered. “If Samantha Chilton’s in danger, he’s definitely a likely suspect. In any case, we’ve already made ourselves an enemy—and we’ve only been here ten minutes. Yes, we’ll definitely have to keep an eye on ‘Poopsie.’”
4 The Mummy Wakes
Frank and I unpacked our suitcases in our cabin. Then we sat on our balcony, sipping cold drinks from our own private, fully stocked minifridge, and watched the sun go down over the desert. The last rays lit up the sails of dozens of feluccas, or small fishing boats, turning them red. These boats had been the chief mode of travel on the Nile for thousands of years.
In fact, if I half-closed my eyes, it could have been the year 3,000 B.C.—during the reign of Pharaoh Semerkhet III, now known as “The Golden Mummy.”
Just then, a stretch limo pulled up to the dock—ruining the whole illusion of ancient times—and a uniformed chauffeur got out. He held open the rear door and offered his hand to help a young woman get out.
She didn’t take it.
She wore a scarf around her head (a kaffiyeh, they call it), dark sunglasses, and a beige cotton robe. It was standard desert dress, but her long, glossy black hair tumbling out from under her scarf made her look very stylish. She looked like she was about twenty years old, at most.
I glanced over at Frank, who was shading his eyes with his hand so he could get a better look at her.
The chauffeur was helping someone else out of the limo now: a big, fat man in a khaki outfit that had to have been custom-made for him. No way do normal shops stock clothes that size.
He also wore dark shades, and a Panama hat topped his enormous head.
“Ah, Dr. Mounir! Welcome, welcome, Salaam Alaikum,” I heard Hassan say.
“As Alaikum Salaam,” Dr. Mounir answered. “This is my doctoral assistant, Miss Leila Abdul. She will be traveling with us. Please make up a cabin for her.”
“Yes, of course,” Ha
ssan said. With a little bow, he led them up the gangplank.
“That must be the guy from the Antiquities Department—you know, the one Sam told her mom about in her phone message,” I said.
Frank didn’t answer. He was too busy gawking at Leila.
Frank is so pathetic sometimes. He’ll tell you that I’m the same way, but it’s not true. The difference between us is, I can handle myself around girls. Frank goes all to pieces and makes a dork out of himself every time.
Mounir and his pretty assistant were soon out of sight, but down on the dockside, an old, battered taxi was just pulling up. Out of it came a short, thin, bearded man wearing a white linen suit, complete with tie. He wore no hat on his balding head, and his thick glasses reflected back up at me like two setting suns.
If he saw us sitting there, looking down at him, he gave no sign of it. Instead he looked left and right, then skulked quickly up the gangway and onto the ship.
“I wonder who that is,” I said.
“Maybe it’s that famous Egyptologist Sam Chilton mentioned,” Frank guessed. “What was his name again?”
“I forget,” I admitted. “Something Russian. But wasn’t that strange, the way he kind of snuck on board? Especially since we came up against that roadblock?”
Frank shrugged. “Maybe he’s going to look for the steward,” he said. “Let’s lie low, make a note of it, and see what we can find out later.”
As the sky grew dark and the stars came out, the Ramses II weighed anchor, and we set off on our journey up the Nile, toward the south.
“Well,” I said to Frank. “What do you say we go meet our fellow travelers and find something to eat?”
“Sounds good to me.”
We went toward the stern of the ship and down a flight of stairs. The lower deck held a large dining room area. Looking in through the picture windows, we could see that the video team had set up their lights for taping.
When it looked like they were between takes, Frank and I stepped inside. Once my eyes adjusted to the glare, I could make out Tommy sitting in the dark shadows, off to one side. I turned my attention back to the “set.” A man we hadn’t seen before sat in a chair on one side. He was good-looking in a rugged sort of way, about thirty years old, with long, carefully brushed brown hair. He wore a stylish short-sleeved shirt and khakis. On his lap was a clipboard with notes.
Four people sat facing him in a row: Dr. Mounir, his assistant Leila, Sam Chilton, and the little bald man with the beard we’d seen sneaking onto the ship. Since he was sitting there with everyone else, I guessed he hadn’t really been sneaking. Still, the way he’d slipped on board was weird.
He looked nervous now, scared. He was holding a drink in his hand, and it was shaking enough to make the ice cubes tinkle.
A roly-poly guy with a buzz cut adjusted a boom mike that hung over the panelists’ heads, just out of camera range.
The cameraman was busy adjusting his focus. He had a halo of long, wild, curly red hair.
“Quiet on the set!” the guy with the boom mike said.
“And, rolling,” said the cameraman. “Take three, and … action!”
The interviewer said, “Tell me, Dr. Mounir—what is your job on this expedition?”
The fat man smiled. “I shall watch over and catalog all the treasures we find, to make sure that they are not stolen, broken, or mishandled. These treasures shall forever belong to all the Egyptian people, as a part of their glorious heritage.”
“What about you, Dr. Volsky?” the interviewer asked, turning to the little man with the beard.
“I am here to verify the authenticity of all the objects as we unearth them,” he said. “I will also place them in context—that is, describe their relationship to each other, and to their time in history.”
“Dr. Volsky is the world’s biggest expert on this stuff,” Sam Chilton interrupted. “I’m so excited he’s coming with us! Between him and Dr. Mounir, and you, Theo,” she added, giving the interviewer a flirty look, “everything we do will be carefully recorded for future generations!” She gave a little squeak of delight and clapped her hands together.
I saw Leila’s mouth twitch slightly in disgust. It was clear that she didn’t like Sam. Was it just because Sam was a flirt? Maybe what Leila didn’t like was that Sam was making a circus out of the search for the Golden Mummy’s Tomb.
“And what about the so-called Curse of the Golden Mummy?” Theo asked. He had a slight European accent, but I wasn’t sure what kind.
Dr. Mounir grew solemn and nodded his head slowly. “Ah, yes, the curse. I think we must all be very careful, lest we disrespect the dead. Who knows what powers the ancients had, or still have? I do not think it is crazy to believe in such things as curses.”
Dr. Volsky snickered. “Ridiculous,” he said.
“I beg your pardon?” Dr. Mounir said, his eyes growing wide.
“Utterly absurd,” Dr. Volsky insisted. “These stories of curses are nothing more than fairy tales! We must stick to science, and only science!”
Dr. Mounir’s eyes blazed with anger. “Do not forget, my esteemed friend,” he said, “that after the discovery of King Tutankhamen’s tomb, so many of the expedition’s members died … mysteriously.”
“Pure coincidence,” said Dr. Volsky.
“I wonder,” said Theo.
“There is more in this world than your modern science can explain,” said Dr. Mounir, his eyes narrowing to little slits.
“I, for one, am not afraid of such curses,” said Dr. Volsky.
“Oh no? Then why are your hands shaking?” Dr. Mounir asked.
“Just a reflex!” Volsky replied, both hands gripping his glass tightly so they wouldn’t shake anymore.
“What about you, Ms. Abdul?” Theo broke in, trying to head off the argument—or maybe encourage it. “What do you think about curses?”
“I believe in respecting the dead” she said seriously. “I believe in respecting our history and our culture. The ancients have much to teach us, if we are humble enough to listen.”
“Ah,” said Theo, “very wise, very wise.”
From the darkness, I heard Tommy snicker.
“Cut!” said the cameraman. “Let’s do another take. I picked up a noise.”
“People,” said Theo, “please! We need complete quiet here, or we’ll be doing this all night. You’ll all have a chance to give your opinions.”
“Perhaps Tommy should just wait outside, Theo?” Sam suggested.
“Good idea,” said Theo.
“You don’t want me around? Fine!” Tommy got up, threw his chair to the ground, and stormed out of the room. “I’m only the executive producer….”
“You’ll have to forgive him,” Sam told the rest of us. “He’s not used to foreign customs.”
“Foreign customs?” Leila repeated, getting to her feet. “You mean, like being polite? Being humble? Having manners?” She stomped off, leaving the dining room on the opposite side of the deck from Tommy.
“I guess we’ll have to break for the night,” Theo said with a sigh of frustration. “Nels, you can pack away the camera. Jurgen, you get the lights and the sound equipment. We’ll set up on shore in the morning.”
“Mummies’ curses. Ridiculous!” muttered Dr. Volsky as he got up, still clutching his drink “Humbug!”
“Oh, come on now, Dr. Volsky,” Samantha said with a musical laugh. “You sound just like a Scrooge!”
“A what?”
“ Scrooge. You know….”
“I have no idea what you are talking about,” Volsky said as Sam led him out on deck.
Clearly, he was not a believer in things mysterious. I guess you can’t be, if you make a habit of opening mummies’ tombs.
It was obvious to me, though, that he was scared of something.
Frank and I went back to our cabin and sat out on deck, watching the dark shore go by.
“So, what did you think of all that?” I asked.
“It
was kind of tense.”
“Totally. Did you see the way Tommy threw that chair down?”
“Yeah. He’s got a real chip on his shoulder,” Frank agreed. “It’s like he’s ready to kill anyone who flirts with his girlfriend.”
“That guy, Theo?”
“Samantha sure seemed friendly with him.”
“I’ll say.”
“Mounir and Volsky almost got into it too,” Frank said.
“Did you notice Volsky’s hands shaking?”
“How could you not?”
“And that Leila chick. She can’t stand Sam,” I observed.
“Oh, it’s ‘Sam’ now? Aren’t we getting friendly? If our friend Tommy thinks you have designs on her …”
“He already thinks I have designs on her,” I said.
“Do you?”
“Are you kidding me? Of course I do!”
“Better take it easy there, Tiger. It could be a dangerous game,” Frank warned.
“Hey, bro, never mind that musclehead—we’ve got a mummy’s curse to worry about.”
“You believe that?” he asked.
I thought for a minute. “I’m not sure. One thing I am sure of is that Leila Abdul can’t stand Sam Chilton.”
“And why do you think that is?”
I shrugged. “Jealous, maybe?”
“Or maybe it’s because some bratty rich girl comes over here with her millions and barges in on what should be an Egyptian-led adventure.”
“Oooh! Do I detect a note of righteous anger?” I asked. “Don’t tell me you have a crush on Dr. Mounir’s lovely assistant?”
Even though it was dark, I could tell Frank was blushing.
“Cut it out,” he muttered. “I’m just defending her, that’s all. I happen to agree, up to a point. And you have to admit, she’s got fire, and brains….”
“And she’s not bad-looking, either,” I added.
“Would you stop it? I happen to agree with her point about being culturally sensitive, that’s all.”
“Me too,” I said. “But I still say she’s a babe. So’s Sam Chilton. And I think we should get to know them both a whole lot better.”
“Joe …”
The Mummy's Curse Page 3
