The Egyptian

by Layton Green

  “What if it’s not scientific? What if they got this from somewhere else?”

  She snorted. “Like where? God?”

  “Nature itself, maybe. An aberration.”

  “This stuff was made in a lab. Bank on it.”

  She pushed him flat and crawled on top of him. She ran her fingernails over his chest while he gazed up at her. “I know those men in Bulgaria weren’t the first men you’ve killed.”

  Grey took a short rapid breath through his nose, and turned his head.

  “I want you to know it’s okay with me. I know it’s not who you are.”

  “You’re a good person, Veronica,” he said softly.

  “So are you. You just don’t think you are sometimes.”

  She continued stroking his chest, and a warm tingling spread throughout his body. “Someone I’m not sold on,” she said, “is our resident scientist.”

  “I think he proved whose side he’s on in your apartment.”

  “I don’t have any reason not to trust Stefan, except that he works for Somax. But that’s a big one.”

  “There’re things about Stefan you don’t know. It’s not my place, but he’s got his reasons, and they’re not selfish ones.”

  “I just think you’re too trusting with him.”

  “That’s not one of my many character flaws.”

  “Do you trust me?”

  He answered honestly. “Yes.”

  She leaned over him and put her elbows next to his head. Her hair feathered his face, and he reached for her again.

  – 49 –

  Viktor returned his ID to his wallet. “Interpol informed me this morning that the Bulgarian police issued a database request concerning the murder of three scientists in a town called Veliko Tarnovo. The same men who murdered these scientists are after my colleague. I went to the police station, and was told to return tomorrow.”

  She remained silent, and Viktor continued, “I’m not asking you to divulge anything the police might have told you. I’m asking you, as an Egyptologist, to help me understand a few pieces of information I already possess.”

  She bit her lip as she slipped the detective’s card through her fingers. “I don’t suppose it hurts to discuss.”

  “Thank you,” Viktor said. “I’d first like to know why impact wounds from a large blunt instrument, and a piece of white linen found in the forest just outside the scene of the crime, caused an inquiry to the Egyptian police.”

  “Did you read the report?”

  “I did. The linen had been soaked in Lebanese resin. Traces of juniper oil, beeswax and natron were also found.”

  She folded her hands on the table and spoke in subdued tones. “There must have been a clever criminologist in the Bulgarian lab. All of these materials were traditionally used in the preparation of the Egyptian mummy.”

  Viktor stared at her. “A mummy.”

  “It’s ridiculous, of course, as I told the detective.”

  “And the blunt instrument?”

  She spread her hands. “It could be anything. If you’re asking me what the significance might be within Egyptology…” She trailed off and gave an apologetic shrug, as if the answer embarrassed her.

  “Yes?”

  “The diameter of the impact wounds suggests an instrument the size of a club or a mace. The depth of the wound suggests the weightier head of the mace. The mace was a favored weapon in ancient Egypt during the Old Kingdom.”

  “Favored by whom?”

  “Bodyguards of the pharaohs, and of the temples. Mummies were also used as guardians of the temples, and were often depicted carrying maces.”

  “Mummies were guardians of the temples?”

  “The idea of a mummy brought to life to wreak vengeance didn’t originate in Hollywood. In certain temples, usually in rural areas, the priests used the myth of the resurrected mummy to keep worshippers in line. Early Arab visitors were convinced the Egyptian priests could bring the mummies back to life with magical incantations.”

  Viktor continued staring at her. “I’m unsure if I’m amused or disturbed.” He reached into his coat and pulled out a small notebook. He flipped it open to the sketch of Al-Miri’s medallion.

  She studied it. “I’ve never seen this particular symbol before. Except for the mummification, the figure is indicative of Nu, as I’m sure you’re aware.”

  “And the mummification?”

  “As mummification became more widespread in Egypt, it bled into all aspects of religion. I wouldn’t be surprised if there were representations of Nu incorporating elements of mummification. I just haven’t seen any.”

  She took the notebook in her hands. “I think this is more than just a depiction of Nu, however. The mummy was the ultimate symbol of physical eternal life to the ancient Egyptians. The ankh represented the gift of life itself, to some the life of the soul, but the mummy was the body eternal and preserved, staring you in the face.” She traced a finger around the drawing. “The eternal water beneath the feet of Nu, the gold, the palm frond, the mummification… this is a powerful symbol of physical immortality. And there’s something else. Do you see the rectangular blue block beneath the figure?”

  “The eternal water, as you said.”

  “The symbol for water in the abstract is a separate hieroglyph. This hieroglyph is the symbol for lake. Dr. Gunther may not have thought that significant. There’s no real reason he would.” She sat back. “Where did you get this?”

  “The man who hired me, a man named Zahur Al-Miri Haddara, was wearing the medallion. He’s also the man we suspect is behind the murders. He’s the CEO of a biotech called New Cellular Technologies. He—” Viktor cut off because Dr. Hilton’s face had paled.

  She swallowed. “Do you remember when I said only one other person had approached me during my tenure at the Museum concerning Nu? It was this man. He was a young biologist, and he owned a company specializing in aging research. I forget the name of the company now, I think it was his family name, but I remember reading an article in the Cairo paper a few years back concerning New Cellular Technologies, and the article mentioned that this was the company’s new name.”

  “What did the article concern?”

  “An archaeological dig.” She paused, reflecting. “He was obsessed with Egyptian immortality myths. I tried to steer him to Osiris, but he wasn’t interested. Said that route was rubbish. He wanted to know about Nu and the myths of the eternal waters. He was actually the one who first led me to the link between the alchemists and the lost oasis. He’d found some old journals from the time of the visits to Egypt of one of the alchemists, Comte St. Germain I believe was the one, that chronicled his journey to the Western desert. He was convinced the elixir of life legends had some type of factual basis, and he intended to find out what it was.”

  Viktor was bent over the table, his hawkish brow drawn to a point. “When did this visit with Al-Miri take place?”

  “It was two or three visits, a decade ago. At the very beginning of my tenure. In the article I mentioned, I read that his company had hired private archaeologists to search for the lost oasis, in the general area where the rock paintings we discussed were found. Curious, but I never heard another word about it in the paper. To be honest, daft expeditions in the desert occur all the time.”

  “Did he return to see you?”

  “I never heard from him again. You wouldn’t think he’s involved with those awful murders? He was really quite polite, if a bit obsessive.”

  Viktor removed his broad hands from the table. He folded his arms and gazed at the drawing of the medallion in the center of the table, a crude sketch that still somehow conveyed the mystery and majesty of ancient Egypt.

  – 50 –

  Veronica had fallen asleep again. Grey paused to look at her lithe nakedness, her blond hair splayed across her back, before leaving the hotel and squinting into the brawny mid-morning Egyptian sun.

  Grey’s exercise consisted of crowd and vendor dodging as mu
ch as it did running. It wasn’t just the people: after jumping and weaving over and around trash, puddles, cracked pavement, and open manholes, Grey felt like he was back in basic training.

  He wore a hat and face scarf pulled low over his eyes to provide both anonymity and protection from the choking air. He’d broken his own rule to the group by leaving the hotel, but he had to push his worries to the back of a mind exhausted from exercise, and he couldn’t stand the treadmill. His disappointment in himself, his confused memories of Nya, the specter of violence and fear that overshadowed it all: he ran until each one of them retreated, kicking and screaming, to a quieter location.

  When he came to a wobbly stop, hands on his hips, taking in gulps of dirty air, his worries came creeping back before his breathing had regulated. Grey hoped a simple solution would present itself, that something would be learned from Jax’s contact that would make it all go away without a fight. Maybe Dorian could provide evidence of Al-Miri’s crimes, and the Egyptian authorities could take the matter into their own hands. Maybe he could procure more of the mysterious liquid that had started this insanity, and Veronica could expose it and the shadowy corporation that had manufactured it to the world. Maybe another solution altogether would present itself.

  There were far too many maybes.

  • • •

  Jax woke at noon and couldn’t remember who the naked woman lying next to him was. He extracted his arm from her copper skin, leaned over to glimpse her face, and then saw the hotel shirt crumpled on the floor of his room.

  How many martinis had he had? He patted his waist, then his eyes made a frantic sweep of the room. There it was, sitting on the bedside table. Stefan said a ten foot radius should be fine. Jax picked up the stupid thing and headed to the bathroom.

  He washed, dressed and made coffee while the bartender stirred. He debated trying for another round, but the bartender looked at the clock and jumped out of bed.

  Jax supposed he’d be here for a few nights. No need to press the issue. He did steal a kiss and a glance before she slipped into her uniform. Great body, immaculate skin, straight black hair falling across her breasts. Much warmer than the uptight Egyptian girls he remembered from past visits. This might not have happened ten years ago. Ah, how he loved to see a relaxation of social mores.

  He walked to Islamic Cairo, his favorite section of the city. For sheer beauty and adventure, nothing beat the bazaars and beggars, mosques and madrasas, wailing muezzins and wafting exoticism of Islamic Cairo.

  He felt the annoying tug of the shortwave on his belt as he walked. It was like being collared. He had already placed an order for a smaller jammer, to be picked up tomorrow from the back room of a tea shop in central Cairo, but he still had to deal with this situation, with these strange people, until he was sure the threat to his freedom was ended. Then, by God, he was never working in this country again. Strictly sub-Saharan Africa from now on, where, except for those pesky civil wars and dictators, everyone knew how to get along and go with the flow. Great people down there. Really. He missed them.

  He had a feeling Dorian would come through for him. Dorian had gotten his start in Egypt robbing tombs. He’d sold the right artifacts to the right people, namely the Egyptian mafia, and his career as liaison and deal broker to the Egyptian underworld had taken off from there. Dorian would get the right word to the right corrupt person.

  Jax ended up at The Citadel, eyes in perpetual motion along the way for anything or anyone out of place. He might as well take in a sight; he only had one thing to do until tonight anyway.

  He climbed to the top and leaned on the ramparts. He took in the city below, the elegant minarets of the Mosque of Mohammad Ali piercing the blue sky behind him. Even in dire circumstance, he could still appreciate the little things about travel: every footstep taken beyond the known boundary, every hill topped, every city explored anew.

  He was not the type to grow jaded; he savored the moment as he stared at the beautiful zigzag of the Pyramids in the distance, and it moved him.

  He wheeled and climbed back down. Time to find some hardware.

  • • •

  “Cairo? Cairo? When were you going to tell me?”

  Veronica squirmed in the call center in the lobby of the hotel. “It’s not complicated. My life’s in danger, Monique. How hard’s that to understand?”

  “Your life’s in danger so you go to Cairo? We have police for that sort of thing.”

  “No, we don’t. The police aren’t always there. You can’t sleep at night, every blind corner or empty hallway could be your last. It’s a terrible feeling.”

  Monique was silent for a moment. “What exactly are you doing about this situation?”

  “The less you know the better. God, that sounded like a cheap movie line, didn’t it? Most of it’s so unbelievable you’d just laugh, except none of it’s funny. Hopefully it’ll be over soon. I just wanted you to know where I was.”

  “Darling, I… how are you holding up? I’m so sorry all this has happened.”

  “I’m absolutely terrified. But this is bigger than any of us. I don’t think you realize—we could be the ones who bring the most revolutionary scientific discovery ever to public light.”

  “Get a hold of yourself! Your life’s in danger, and you’re talking about something you haven’t even seen! Come home, dear. Please.”

  “I have to do this.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “Just be ready to move when I send copy.”

  Veronica left the booth and paid the attendant. She gave a wistful glance in the opposite direction, to the enticing smells and sounds coming from the streets of Cairo. Grey would kill her if she ventured into the city by herself. Or would he? Was she imposing something onto him that he didn’t have?

  No, he’d care about that. He just wouldn’t care about it for the reasons she wanted him to care about it.

  Damn him. She was no fool. She knew he was operating on pure physical attraction, and that he felt guilty about it. Damn him, damn him, damn him. Who did he think he was? Guilt? Over her? God, there’s nothing like getting rejected by a good man.

  Was he a good man? She wasn’t sure you could kill as many people as she felt sure Grey had killed and still be a good man. Somehow, with him, she thought that you could.

  She got a mental glimpse of Grey in bed next to her, then she remembered the glimmer of doubt in his eyes when they had finished. She kicked a bottle across the street and reminded herself what she had learned about love’s true nature in her years researching biotech. Romance, sex, love, attraction, they were all one giant farce, nature’s slick ploy that served only to further the one true goal of the human species: the fulfillment of the biological imperative.

  Nature was the enemy, and when she found this test tube, she was going to score one for the visitors.

  • • •

  Stefan went to the HSBC a block from the hotel. He’d bought a small gift bag in the hotel lobby, and before he left the bank he stuffed two grand worth of Euros into the bag and covered them with a T-shirt.

  When he got back he stopped at the call center. He saw Veronica in one of the booths in the corner, her back to him. He chose a booth near the front and closed the door. He dialed the Bulgarian country code and then the exchange for Veliko Tarnovo.

  Brother Alexander, the monk who’d met them at the monastery the night they fled the hill, answered on the third ring.

  “It is good to hear from you,” the monk said in the Bulgarian dialect they had both grown up speaking.

  “And you, old friend. I’m sorry to disturb you. I wanted to ensure there have been no repercussions at the monastery. I’m sorry to have put you at risk.”

  “It is our privilege to harbor fellow Christians. There’s no need for concern. No one has approached the monastery.”

  Stefan took a relieved breath. “And the package I gave you? It is safe?”

  “It will be here when you return. I trust it’s nothing we
would not wish to keep at the monastery.”

  “Thank you. It is nothing, a personal item I salvaged from my house. I’m in your debt.”

  “No,” the monk murmured. “We are all in debt to Christ. And how are you?”

  “I’m fine. I hope to return soon.”

  “Take care, Brother Stefan. I don’t know what danger you’re in, but remember that the flesh is fleeting. Do not neglect your soul.”

  “I sometimes miss the days of our youth. Life was not so complicated then, my friend.”

  “They are the same complications, in disguise. We just take them far more seriously.”

  Stefan paid, then returned slowly to his room. Perhaps the flesh was fleeting, he thought.

  And perhaps it was not.

  – 51 –

  Viktor reviewed Grey’s file on Al-Miri, then found an Internet café on Khadrawy Street. The café attendant, a serious young man in his twenties named Ammon, spoke excellent English, and Viktor struck up a conversation. Amman, who worked the Internet café in the evenings to help pay his way through a university law degree, was an aspiring international attorney and eager to practice his English. When the café emptied, Viktor offered to pay Ammon to help with a certain research assignment, and Ammon said it would be good practice, he’d help for free.

  Viktor asked Ammon to look for articles on Al-Miri or his company in Egyptian sources around the time of the name change to New Cellular. Ammon found mention of various expeditions by Al-Miri Haddara into the Western Desert, minor news stories covered by a few archaeological journals. The journals discussed how Mr. Haddara was searching for previously undiscovered meteoric craters that hit deep in the Western desert thousands of years ago. Apparently research had uncovered that certain types of igneous rock might have useful applications to biomedical research.