“How are you feeling?” he asked.
She just shook her head. Then, suddenly, she reached out and grasped his wrist, tightly, almost painfully. He tensed for a moment, fearing another explosion of sensation, but there was nothing.
“Dr. Logan,” she said, her silky voice low and urgent, “when we spoke in the lounge, I told you I experienced what everyone else who ‘goes over’ does.”
“Yes,” he replied.
“And that’s true. I did-at first. But then I saw things that were completely different. Completely different.”
Her grasp grew even tighter, and her amber eyes held his own. There was something in those eyes, in that face, he couldn’t read.
“Help me,” she suddenly whispered, almost below the threshold of audibility. “Help me.”
The door handle rattled. Immediately, Jennifer Rush released her hold on his wrist. She kept her gaze on him for another few seconds. Then, as the door opened and Rush stepped in, she slowly lay back on the bed-and passed out.
31
Logan sat at the desk of his small office in Maroon, looking at the laptop screen without really seeing it. It was very late-almost two in the morning-but he still felt too restless to sleep.
In his career as an enigmalogist, Logan had experienced many unusual and, at times, dangerous things. He had climbed the Himalayas in search of yeti. He’d descended to the bottom of Scottish lochs in a diving bell. For every half-dozen ghosts or spectral presences he’d debunked, there had been at least one other he’d been unable to explain away with science. He’d attended three exorcisms. But nothing in his wide experience had caused him quite the kind of unease as the invisible presence he’d felt beside Jennifer Rush’s hospital bed that evening.
He stirred in his chair, picked up a transcript of the “crossing”:
[Begins 21:04:30]
Q: Who am I speaking to?
Q: Who am I speaking to?
R: (Unintelligible reply)
Q: Who am I speaking to?
R: Mouthpiece of Horus.
Q: Can you tell me about the seal? The first gate?
R: The first gate.
Q: What should we-
R: Infidels! Enemies of Ra. Leave this place. Or else He Whose Face Is Turned Backwards will feed upon thy blood and take the milk from the mouths of thy children. The foundations of thy house will be broken, and thou will die an endless death in the Outer Darkness. [Ends 21:07:15]
The foundations of thy house will be broken. That was part of the curse of Narmer, as Tina Romero had translated it for him. Logan wondered how much, if anything, Jennifer Rush knew about the curse.
He put down the transcript. There was something else. He tried recalling what it was Romero had told him. An’kavasht-He Whose Face is Turned Backwards. A god of nightmare and evil, who dwelled Outside, “in the endless night.”
Outside. The Sudd.
Over the past several days, Logan had done research-via a special computer in Stone’s outer office with a satellite connection to the Internet-into the curses of ancient Egypt. They had a long and colorful history that extended far beyond the tabloid sensationalism of King Tut and Howard Carter. Logan had encountered curses before, of course: in Gibraltar, Estonia, New Orleans. In each case, there had been an anodyne, a counterspell: some method for deflecting or ameliorating the execration. Not so with the tombs of ancient Egypt. Despite all his reading, all his research, only one method for countering such curses seemed to exist: stay well away from them.
Irresistibly, his thoughts were drawn back to Jennifer Rush: to the almost desperate way she had grasped his wrist, to the look in her eyes when she asked for help. It was as if the scales had fallen from his own eyes, and he had seen her, and her terrible vulnerability, for the first time.
I thought it might be beneficial for Jennifer, Rush had said. Give her a chance to use her gift in a positive way. But how could what he’d witnessed ever be considered beneficial?
There was a knock on his door. Logan turned to see-as if in response to his thoughts-Ethan Rush standing in the doorway.
“Come in,” he said.
Rush entered. He nodded at Logan, but deferentially, almost like a schoolboy conscious of some misdeed. He sat down in the chair beside the desk.
“Thoughts?” Rush asked after a brief silence.
“I think your wife should be spared any future crossings.”
Rush smiled slightly, then shrugged, as if to imply it was out of his hands. “I’m not happy about it, either. But Stone’s a hard man to say no to. And Jennifer has always been game.”
“And you’ve seen nothing like this before? In your studies at CTS?”
“Nothing of this magnitude. And nothing from such-such a temporal distance. As I told you, most of the experiences we’ve seen deal with recently deceased relatives or people-also recently deceased-who had lived in the vicinity of the crossing site. But, then again, Jen has a unique talent.” Rush shook his head.
“You mention a temporal distance. So you think that whoever is speaking through her might be contemporaneous with the construction of the tomb?”
“I don’t know.” Rush seemed unsettled by the question-or perhaps by the concept itself. “It seems incredible. But what other spiritual force would be found in such a remote place?” He paused. “What do you think?”
For a minute, Logan did not respond. “Earlier, when I implied your wife was channeling Narmer, I was being facetious. Now I’m sorry I joked about it. In any case, whoever is speaking through Jennifer, I don’t think it’s Narmer. You see, the ancient Egyptians believed that after death, the soul persisted through eternity. As long as you knew the secret rituals, as long as you brought with you in your tomb all the possessions you needed for a physical, earthly life, your soul- ba — and its protective spirit- ka — would find their way to the next world.” He thought a moment. “Clearly, Narmer would have done this, would have moved on to the next realm. So perhaps whoever is speaking through your wife is someone else, a restless soul, adrift in the spirit world yet somehow tied to this place.”
“But a soul so ancient…” Rush stopped briefly for continuing. “How is such a thing possible? I mean, I, of all people, seeing what I’ve seen at the Center, am disposed to believe. I wouldn’t have brought Jen all the way out here if I thought it was impossible. Our own studies have shown it’s theoretically possible. But how…” He faltered into silence.
“There are numerous theories that might help explain,” Logan said. “There’s a belief that strong evil persists in spirit long after the physical body has perished. The greater the evil, the longer its influence lingers-not unlike the half-life of radioactive material. Your wife, with her unique sensitivities, may well be acting as a conduit for such an influence. You should think of her as a psychical weather vane-or, perhaps better, as an unwitting, and unwilling, lightning rod. A lightning rod does nothing on its own-it simply attracts.”
“But attracts who?” Rush asked.
“Who’s to say? One of the dead priests? Someone left to guard the tomb? Perhaps it might even be someone who died a hundred years ago, rather than five thousand.”
“But during her first productive crossing, she made some specific references to the site that helped us.”
“You mentioned that before.” Logan shifted in his seat. “I’d like to see those transcripts, if I may.”
“I’ll see what I can arrange.”
“I would also like a copy of your CTS records.”
Rush looked at him. “Which records?”
“Whatever you can give me. Trial studies, doctor’s reports, interviews with test subjects.”
“Why is that important?”
“You asked me for help. The more I understand of your work-of what Jennifer and the others have undergone-the better prepared I’ll be to help you.”
Rush considered this a moment. Then he nodded slowly. “I’ll burn a DVD for you. Anything else?”
“Yes. What’
s so important about the first gate?”
“The first gate?” Rush seemed surprised by this non sequitur. “It’s the sealed entrance to the tomb. Stone was looking for any assistance in how to safely breach it.”
“Safely breach it,” Logan repeated. “He’s afraid of a trap.”
Rush nodded. “Narmer went to incredible lengths to secure his tomb,” he said. “It doesn’t seem likely he’d hand over the keys without a fight.”
32
Porter Stone’s office looked as immaculate and minimalist as the first time Logan had entered it. The only difference he noted this time was that the lone calendar page of the current month had been removed, leaving the walls completely bare.
Stone, who had been speaking into a radio, snapped it off as Logan stepped in. “Jeremy. Please have a seat.”
“Thank you.”
Stone looked Logan up and down with his cool, appraising gaze. “So. What did you want to see me about?”
“I understand that things are proceeding very well.”
“I’m extremely happy with our progress. The tomb interface-the air lock-has been permanently affixed to the surrounding rock. The Umbilicus has been run from the Maw to the air lock. It’s now fully powered and pressurized. The link is stable-we’ve run numerous tests and diagnostics. We sent down a five hundred megahertz ground-penetrating radar, piloted remotely. It, along with sonic imaging tests, seems to detect three chambers beyond the first gate, one placed after the other in series.”
Although he was talking about the find of his career, Stone’s verbal delivery and body language remained calm and reserved. Only the hard glitter in his blue eyes suggested what he was really feeling. “Everything is in readiness,” he continued. “It’s time to break the seal and enter the tomb.”
Logan ran a hand through his hair. “Who will be making the initial penetration?”
“Tina. Dr. March. Ethan Rush. A couple of Frank Valentino’s boys for the heavy lifting. And myself, of course.” He smiled. “One of the perks of funding this little expedition.”
“I would recommend one other,” Logan said.
Stone raised his eyebrows. “Oh? And who might that be?”
“Me.”
Slowly, Stone’s smile faded. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible. Why should I bring you along on this first incursion?”
“There are lots of reasons. For one thing, it’s part of my job description. You brought me here to investigate various strange phenomena: we both have a strong suspicion this tomb may in some way be responsible for them. I’m also uniquely qualified to document this event-and I know that such documentation will be important to you in the future.”
“Yes. But why not wait until the tomb is stabilized?”
“Because if there is indeed an active curse-in whatever form it might manifest itself-I should be there from the beginning. Recall Narmer’s opening words: ‘Any man who dares enter my tomb.’ Nobody has yet entered the tomb-but the Station already has been plagued with unexplained phenomena. There is a good chance that whatever else might happen may well start with this initial penetration.”
“That’s true,” Stone said. “All the more argument for you to wait. There’s no reason to expose you needlessly to danger.”
“I’ve signed the liability waivers and indemnification documents, just like the others-Ethan Rush made sure of that.” Logan sat forward in his chair. “And there’s another argument for my presence, Dr. Stone. Nobody knows what lies on the far side of that gate. But of anyone on this Station, I’m the most prepared to deal with it. You’ve seen my resume. You know the kinds of-shall we say- nonnatural phenomena I’ve come up against in the past. I’m as inured to such things as anyone could claim to be. Frankly, I’ve seen things that might break a less experienced person. You need me precisely because we don’t know what we’re going to find.”
Stone fixed him with a penetrating gaze. “You forget I’m not exactly a novice at this sort of thing. I’ve unsealed more than my share of tombs.”
“Not one with a curse like this on it.” Logan drew in a deep breath. “Let me do my job, Dr. Stone.”
For a long moment, Stone continued to stare at him. Then his sly, almost private smile slowly returned. “Eight a.m. sharp,” he said. “Don’t be late.”
33
The last time Logan saw the Staging Area was on the day of the dive accident. The huge, echoing room had been crowded then. It was even more crowded now. At least a dozen people were monitoring the wall of instrumentation, and a small army of assistants and technicians were massed in the center, crowding around the Maw, all talking animatedly.
Slowly, Logan approached them. The huge flat-panel monitor that had displayed the chessboard-like grid of the Sudd floor was now dark, its purpose fulfilled. Tall racks of sodium vapor lights were aimed into the Maw. As he drew close, he could make out Tina Romero in the crowd. She spotted him, detached herself from the group, and came over.
“I heard you invited yourself along,” she said. “Stone must really dig you.”
Logan shrugged. “What’s not to dig?”
“You want a list?”
The banter was light, but Logan detected an edge in her voice. He knew what she was feeling, because he felt it himself. Great excitement to be here for this, perhaps the most important day in archaeology since Schliemann discovered Troy-but also deep and pervasive anxiety over what King Narmer might have in store for them.
Porter Stone was standing to one side with Frank Valentino. He glanced at his watch, then said something to Valentino, who immediately raised a bullhorn. “Attention!” the chief barked. “Break it up, please. Back to your stations.”
Slowly, in ones and twos, the people drifted away from the Maw. Now Stone and Valentino approached, along with two burly roustabouts. Stone nodded at Tina and Logan in turn. “Ready?”
“Yes,” they replied in tandem.
“This is how we’ll proceed. Valentino’s men will go first, followed by myself, Tina, Dr. March, Dr. Rush, and then Jeremy here. We’ve already lowered most of the equipment we’ll need down to the air lock platform. Once we’ve established that the site is secure, we will perform a close examination of the gate itself, followed by a test core. Only then will we break the seal and enter. This first penetration of the tomb will be limited to a visual reconnaissance only-everything will be recorded on video, but nothing is to be touched, save samples taken for analysis by Tina and Ethan Rush. Is that understood?”
While he had been speaking, Ethan Rush and Fenwick March joined the group. Everyone nodded.
“Good. Then put on your respirators and gloves. We’ll communicate via radio.”
Following Tina’s example, Logan stepped over to a small wheeled lab table, picked up a pair of latex gloves, and pulled them on. Then he took a respirator from among several lying on the table and snugged it over his mouth and nose. He attached the radio clip to his belt and turned it on.
All the others did the same. Valentino’s men wore small backpacks, as did Ethan Rush. Tina hoisted a compact videocam.
And then they were ready. Stone looked at each in turn, then glanced at Valentino’s men and gave them a thumbs-up. As the two stepped over to the Maw, Logan was surprised by a spontaneous burst of applause from the various technicians and assistants; instead of going back to their posts, as instructed, they had gathered near the industrial rolling ladder and were watching the seven as they prepared to descend to the tomb.
Logan hung back, watching, as-one after the other-Valentino’s two men walked to the Maw, grasped the metal railing, swung their legs over, and slowly descended out of sight. Next went Stone, then Romero, then March, then Rush.
And then it was his turn. With a deep breath, he stepped to the edge of the Maw, grasped the railing, and peered over its edge.
The last time he’d done that, the Maw had been merely a portal to the Sudd below. Black, evil-smelling muck had filled it to the rim. Now, however, he found himself sta
ring down a long, gently sloping yellow tunnel, made of some heavy, flexible material. At least a dozen cables of various colors and thicknesses ran down into its flanks, like veins. The tunnel-the Umbilicus, as it was called-was slightly narrower than the Maw itself. It was stiffened against the external pressure of the Sudd by wooden bracings, set in an overlapping hexagonal pattern, each support structure placed about two feet from the next. A pulley system of some kind ran down the left flank, apparently for bringing heavier items down to or up from the tomb. A series of lozenge-shaped LEDs was arrayed down the upper edge of the tube in an unbroken line, bathing the Umbilicus in cool light. Heavy foot- and handholds were set down its length. Below him, he could see the others, descending hand under hand toward what they had termed the Lock.
Taking another deep breath, he took hold of the railing, swung himself over, made sure his footing was secure, then began to descend.
“Stone here,” the voice crackled over his radio. “I’ve reached the outer air lock platform.”
Logan descended, careful to keep his breathing regular. The Umbilicus was spotless: there was no trace of mud along its inner walls. The air that came through his respirator had only the faintest scent of rotting vegetation. And yet he found himself unable to forget, even for a moment, the vile ooze that pressed in on them from all sides of the tube.
The descent itself was easy enough. He’d assumed that the Station would be anchored directly over the tomb and that they would need to climb straight down, ladder-style. But Porter Stone, always thinking ahead, had positioned the Station at a sufficient distance to give the Umbilicus a forty-five-degree angle from vertical, allowing for relatively easy journeys up and down. As Logan descended, he noticed that the pieces of wooden bracing became thicker, no doubt compensating for the increased pressure from outside.
Within three minutes he had joined the group on the air lock platform. He looked around curiously. The platform was actually formed out of the base of the Umbilicus: a metal catwalk, roughly ten feet on each side. Beneath it, four thick metal supports pierced the yellow material of the tube and disappeared below, presumably anchored to the bed of the Sudd. The spots where the supports exited the base of the tube were composed of metal sleeves, their edges thickly sealed with latex, rubber, and narrow bands of steel.
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