by L. A. Banks
“Twenty bucks says this guy helped sell out Daoud,” Isda muttered, gunning the engine as Gavreel passed out more water bottles.
“But he also gave us a great lead,” Azrael said. “Men who deal in black-market antiquities here.”
“Patience always pays off, milord,” Rahab murmured, setting down her scrying bowl. “One of our trackers targeting the human seer’s energy let us know where she was next. And playing a fair hunch, an already corrupted soul was the perfect carrier to touch our most wanted, little Miss Celeste, because where she is, Azrael will always be.”
“The way your mind works has always delighted me,” Asmodeus said, staring across the table at her.
Chapter 13
Celeste sipped her water quietly and didn’t say a word. The entire ride over to the shopping district to Nazir’s Perfume Emporium, the bus had erupted in chaotic speculation about where the tablet could have been stashed, moved, and what the next course of action should be. Everyone’s nervous system was fried, and she had a headache that felt as if someone were driving a needle into her eye from inside her brain.
Worst of all, she hated that she’d actually yelled at Azrael. Even given his demon-destroying profession, he was the most peaceable soul she’d ever met. What had come over her to make her lash out at the poor man like that? she wondered. No one was himself. It was as though some crazy new kind of bad energy had settled in among the group, making folks argue and snap at each other and just generally behave miserably. Not all of it could be blamed on fatigue, dehydration, and insufferable heat. Poor Gavreel, supposedly the angel of peace, looked ready to rumble at the slightest provocation. Something was wrong.
But her two cents didn’t need to be added into the layers of conjecture already clouding everyone’s judgment. Emotions were running high enough.
She continued to keep her own counsel as they parked and piled out of the hot bus and entered the brightly lit shop. Even getting here had caused drama. The crude directions they were given and Isda’s refusal to ask for clarification only added to everyone’s exasperation.
A cannon blast of cold air greeted them at the door as they stepped into a place that looked like Aladdin’s lair. The walls were covered in red crushed-velvet fabric from the floor to the chair rail, and above it were gold-accented, geometric-design murals painted on every inch. Sumptuous Oriental rugs yawned across hand-laid black, white, and gold marble tiles. Black-lacquer and gold-accented chairs and benches overstuffed with gold-embroidered satin cushions littered the customer seating area. Rich oils blended into a pleasant aroma that wasn’t so overpowering that it created nausea.
Lest she accidentally bump into a display, Celeste tried to make herself small as they passed gleaming cases of hand-blown glass vases, perfume bottles, and small jewelry boxes. Each delicate bottle looked as if it had been painstakingly created, and she worried for the shop’s treasures as burly angles trudged to the manager’s desk, ignoring the salesman’s request to assist them.
“Sir, sir,” the salesman said, adjusting his poorly fitting, light-blue sports jacket. “May I help you?”
Azrael looked at him with dark clouds of annoyance forming in his expression. “I was told to see Nazir. Hakim sent us.”
Several security guards, two salesmen, and a young male cashier stood stock-still for a moment, then the salesman rushed to the back of the store. Celeste glanced around. The air-conditioning was on full blast, the place didn’t have a single customer, and it was outfitted like a sultan’s boudoir. Staff was standing around doing nothing, but obviously getting paid to hang out. Where she came from, retail operations like this were called a front.
“Yes, may I help you?” an older, balding gentleman said, as he exited the back room. “I am Nazir.”
Celeste hung back wondering how many more security guards were in the back and what else beyond hot antiquities the man moved. He had on a short-sleeve, embroidered, Egyptian-cotton shirt, a Rolex, and a heavy gold chain. She noticed that his hands were manicured and he was well barbered. Hmmm …
Azrael nodded as the man looked up at him. “I’m told you might be able to help me locate something valuable.”
Nazir looked around and gave his guards a meaningful look, then smiled. “I understand you are the American athletes with a lot of money.” Nazir smiled and looked at the five warriors. “Basketball or football? Wait, let me guess.”
Confident to the point of cocky, the little man walked around Azrael sizing him up, then looked at Bath Kol, Isda, Gavreel, and Paschar. “Although there are five of you, I say football. Am I right?”
Before Azrael could answer with a much too long version of the truth, Celeste jumped in. “Football.”
“I knew it!” Nazir exclaimed. “Then we should definitely go into a private salon. I have many deals for men with real money.” He smiled at Celeste. “And we will make sure that all the ladies have gorgeous scents … my oils are the best in Egypt—there are certain fragrances that can only come from the true fresh-pressed flowers. Maybe the ladies would like a tea or a coffee, and Rahim can let them select beautiful scarves and—”
“She stays with me,” Azrael said in a rumble that nearly shook the glass cases.
“Of course, of course, I have three wives and none so beautiful. If I had one like that, I would keep a watchful eye.” Nazir smiled and opened his arms with a flourish. “Yalla, yalla … the salon is this way.”
Nazir led them to a room with soft seating, hookahs, and a central oval table where his body language suggested that he’d expect only the men to be seated. Making small talk as he closed the door, Nazir smiled at Azrael, then ushered him to the head of the table. Two silent guards were already in the room standing by the far back wall.
“Hakim said you emptied your pockets for your wife at the temple … your team must be going to the Super Bowl.” Nazir laughed at his own joke as they all sat, growing nervous as his guests remained stoic. “So, what team?”
The brothers looked at each other for a moment.
“The Eagles,” Celeste said quickly, then allowed the brothers to catch her meaningful sidelong glance.
“Yeah, I guess you could call us the Birds,” Bath Kol muttered.
The man smiled. “This is Philadelphia, yes? Philly.”
“Yeah,” Celeste said, concerned that the man had that much knowledge of the sport and could possibly catch them in a bold-faced lie.
“Ah, we have a Philae here. But it is just old temples, no sports team.” Nazir smiled broadly and sat down across from Azrael, focused on the man who he’d obviously been told had the wellspring of cash in his pocket.
“So,” Nazir said, glancing around but giving his primary attention to Azrael, “this is for your mansion or your office or a gift?”
“I’m looking for ancient tablets,” Azrael said, cutting to the chase.
Bath Kol and Isda looked as if they’d stopped breathing when Nazir blanched.
“Something like that, with writing on it—anything with writing on it to any significant degree, would cost … possibly millions, sir … and would be extremely difficult to export, if you understand my meaning.” Nazir sat back expectantly with his hands folded in front of him on the table.
“How many millions?” Azrael said casually. “One, two, ten?”
“Ten to fifteen,” Nazir said, losing his smile and leaning forward. “At least. Then there would be transportation and security costs.”
Azrael nodded. “We can make that happen.”
Nazir began to wheeze. “Bring some refreshments for these gentlemen. Top-shelf, and prepare tea and coffee for the ladies.” He waited until the men left and had shut the door behind them. “May I ask what has inspired your interest in such an expensive treasure, sir?”
“The man’s been retracing his roots,” Isda said in a sarcastic tone that went over Nazir’s head.
“So you want something that could be representative of your Nubian heritage … this to put on your library wal
l or maybe your living room wall as a gallery piece?”
“Something like that,” Azrael replied, and sat back in his chair.
“I ask this because I will endeavor to do all that I can to find a stone with hieroglyphics on it, intact. But those are so rare—wealthy Europeans have taken so much on their so-called expeditions that were really raiding parties … Napoléon stole so much that the Louvre has more exhibits than our own Egyptian Museum, as does the British Museum, Germany, Italy, all over the world actually.”
Nazir released a dramatic sigh. “You see, I tell you this so that you understand my pricing. Until 1972, all one had to do was set up an expedition, finance it, and take as you pleased if you found a ruin. Before our government, there were fat caliphs who could care less, as long as they were properly compensated, and the wealthy tomb raiders put much in their private collections and gave a pittance to their home government and museums … so the collector business, which is still very fertile, had to go underground so to speak—not that I am openly complaining, but with new laws that carry twenty-five years to life for removing even the tiniest item … well … you understand why this has escalated the cost of doing business. And now after the recent events here with civil unrest … a change in the government makes things even more costly.”
Azrael stood. “We understand you are unable to help us.” He looked at the group. “Let’s go.”
“Wait, wait, wait, my friend,” Nazir said, jumping to his feet. “In Egypt we discuss … we negotiate—it is our way. I did not mean to offend and I can see you are a very direct man indeed. Please sit. Let us work this out.”
His expression strained, Nazir coaxed Azrael to sit down again and then spoke quickly. “I have a network of people at all the ruin sites, so trust me, for your price, we could move a stone from Ramses’s tomb!”
Nazir leaned back and laughed at his own joke and after a moment awkwardly stopped when he realized no one else was laughing with him. “However, it would help me to understand your desire better, because we could have a very long and fruitful relationship. As I see things that fit your taste, I could contact you and send you digital photos and then have anything you decided to buy shipped with you sending me a wire transfer. I have many rich clients all over the world, and there is more Egyptian art in rich people’s private collections than in the museums.”
“Since you are doing custom orders, then,” Azrael said, his mood darkening, “I am looking for a very special tablet. It is a single sheet of gold with thirty-six panels on it, approximately one foot wide by two feet long. It’s encased entirely in clear quartz crystal and weighs about fifty to sixty pounds. There was a man who knew where it was—Daoud Salahuddin. But I cannot find him now.”
Nazir leaned in quickly. “You were trying to acquire that from Daoud?”
“Yes,” Azrael replied flatly.
“Listen to me, my friend. Forget about that tablet. I will find you something else very close to it, I assure you … but that one must have been stolen from a private collector—a very serious collector who took issue with Daoud’s misdeeds. I do not believe anything good came to your courier, which is why you must deal with more established sources like myself.”
“Has the other collector recovered the item?” Isda said in an easy manner, then reared back in his chair. “Because if not, a bid war is not out of the question … whot, with da way we can make money …”
Bath Kol nodded. “Unfortunately Mr. Salahuddin was out of his league. Had we known that … hey.”
Nazir jumped up. “Let me make some calls. I do not believe the item has been recovered. I have a cousin in Edfu who works with stone and who at times serves as a courier—”
“We can go to Edfu,” Isda said, gaining nods from the group. “We like to know who we’re dealing with.”
This time when they boarded the bus, they waited until they pulled away from the curb before erupting into pandemonium.
“Okay, this is taking shape in my mind, folks,” Bath Kol said, too wired to sit as Isda drove at breakneck speed to make it back to the ship on time. “You’ve got these exhibit dudes, like our man back at Karnak, Hakim. They look for wealthy foreigners who look like they could drop some nice coin for original artifacts. With so many people finding their homes have been built on top of ruins and the government only offering them a pittance for what-ever’s found there, there’s a lot of stuff moving illegally across borders. Add in general theft from sacred sites, and you have a nice little cottage industry going.”
“So, Hakim sees us poking around and figures a bunch of rich Americans are trying to smuggle home a keepsake,” Celeste said. “So he calls his boy, Nazir, and says, ‘I’ve got a hot one for you.’ “
“Right,” Azrael added, glancing around the group. “And at Nazir’s we learn that he’d heard about this tablet someone with a lot of money was searching for and had possibly killed a man over … no doubt the enemy was going around saying they needed their tablet returned—which is why Nazir assumed someone had stolen it from whoever was looking for it.”
“But I didn’t get the feeling that he had actually ever brokered a deal of that magnitude or even had the tablet,” Aziza said.
“I’m with you, lady.” Celeste shook her head. “No, this guy was about to pee his pants when Az put eight figures on the table. These guys don’t have it.”
“But they have ears to the ground, and more importantly, if we go talk to this cousin of Nazir’s down in Edfu—Omar the stoneworker—then maybe we can find out who helped get poor Daoud into the sanctuary of the Precinct of Mut. It had to be one of the guys he was working with to move the piece.”
Celeste stared out the window at the approaching dock. “If I was Daoud and I knew everybody around me was dirty or could possibly be paid off … like Hakim … dude probably let Daoud in for a price on the side without telling Nazir. Right?”
“I’m right dere wit you, sis,” Isda said.
“Okay,” she said, turning back to the group, “I would tell them I had found a buyer and would give them a way bigger cut if they didn’t tell Nazir. Those guys probably said yes, knowing that if things went south, Daoud could run but he couldn’t hide forever, especially with no way to get a passport out of the country without their network knowing about it. So, the deal was, Daoud would go get the cash from some rich guy, split it with them for a hefty cut—higher than what Nazir pays … under the table and off Nazir’s radar. But then Daoud, an honest man with no buyer, hides the tablet and never brings them their cut.”
“So they round him up and take his ass to Nazir and claim that they found him poaching,” Bath Kol said.
“And Daoud gets tortured and his family gets threatened, so he gives them one piece. Something bigger than what he so-called stole. Imhotep,” Isda said quietly.
Bath Kol released a forlorn sigh as he leaned back against his seat. “But the poor bastard was probably so beat up and had lost so much blood that he expired right out there in the tomb that me and Aziza went down into.”
Aziza nodded. “That version of the story resonates with me.”
“Me, too,” Celeste said, gaining nods from Maggie and Melissa.
“It sits right in my gut as well,” Azrael said, standing. “I still want to go to Edfu. This stoneworker concerns me. When they captured Daoud, who knows what information they extracted from him that could be useful to us. This Omar might also lead us to the full group that initially moved that altar.”
Isda reached back and slapped Azrael five, but Celeste leaned forward and rubbed her temples, her head pounding, something pushing at her mind.
“I saw something when we were at the site … but it fled my mind and I’ve felt like I’ve got something metal stuck in my head ever since.” Breathing shallow sips of air, Celeste closed her eyes. “It’s getting worse now.”
“Give me your hands,” Aziza said, and turned around in her seat on her knees.
Weakly, Celeste complied as everyone looked on. But a
s soon as their hands touched, both women drew back from each other.
“You’re carrying something dark on your person,” Aziza said in a tight voice.
Celeste stared at her and swallowed hard, paralyzed by Aziza’s statement. “Get it off me, sis. I could feel it crawling all over me as soon as you said it.”
Azrael got up and grabbed her fanny pack. “What did that guard give you—he handed something to you!”
“A phone number so I could call him back later tonight.”
“Why would you do that?” Azrael frowned, unzipping her pack.
“For a booty call,” Celeste said, squinting.
“A what?”
“A rendezvous, man,” Isda said, frowning.
Azrael extracted the piece of paper, and as soon as he held it between his fingers, it burned. Celeste slumped into a seat and released her breath.
“The headache … damn, it’s gone,” she murmured.
“They tracked her. Sent a black vibration out through the airwaves to cover the mortals in our group at all of the sites where we’d most likely go searching for the tablet and sarcophagus,” Bath Kol said, punching a seat. “They can only do that to humans or beings with human DNA in them. Shit!”
“Den they’ll let us be their little hunting dogs and go find the tablet for them, and then ambush us,” said Isda.
“Did anyone else touch that guard or accept anything from him?” Azrael looked around. “Does anyone else have a headache or feel nauseated?”
Everyone murmured in a confused manner as though they couldn’t remember, and Azrael scanned them visually for any signs of additional fatigue.
“You do not break bread or eat with a demon. You do not share water, the most mutable substance on the planet, with a demon. The piece of paper he gave you had numbers on it … a dark code containing a scrying spell. And—”
“His eyes turned coal black,” Celeste suddenly shouted. “I couldn’t remember before! Everything became cloudy.”
