As the guard unlocked and opened the vizier’s cage, the largest in the room, the unamused prisoner issued a warning. “Ahhh, gloating can be so very satisfying, but it can also be quite short lived. I do admit to having gloated a bit over the body of Mohammad Gharib, and now look at the predicament in which I find myself. You may well find disappointment lurking just around the corner, Seven. What if your latest attempt to recreate the ancient elixir of immortality should happen to be the perfect one? As unlikely as it may seem, what if you were to turn me into an immortal being? How ironic that would be. How delightful!” He rubbed his hands together at the thought and then reached out to take the tray.
“Then I should think we would both be delighted,” Horus replied as the vizier turned and carefully set the tray down on his cot. “You would avoid a confrontation with Sobek, who would surely devour your rotten, evil heart and, after serving a sample of the successful formula to each of our special forces guards I would then bathe in the magical waters so that I would finally inherit all of the powers that have been prophesied. My true enemy and my father’s enemy as well, Set, would be vanquished forever and Egypt would soon be restored to its former level of magnificence. Indeed, Vizier,” Horus said as he stepped out of the cage, “this is a special occasion. For the first time in ever so long we are two men with but a single wish.”
Noticing Amenti admiring the lab rats once again, the serious look on Horus’s face transformed into a grin. “It seems that someone else is thinking about breakfast,” he said. He opened the latch and reached into the cage that had captured Amenti’s attention. Lifting the fat little rodent high in the air he turned back towards the vizier to add, “I recommend that while you enjoy your breakfast, you should pray, as unlikely as it may be, for a miraculous outcome. I shall return in about an hour with the golden chalice containing the liquid that will determine your fate. Bon appétit!”
Horus motioned to the guard, who locked the vizier’s cage and then headed for the door that led to the lab. “Come Amenti,” he swung the cat’s squeaking prize in the air, “let’s leave the rest of the rats alone now.”
Not quite an hour later, the vizier reluctantly took the gleaming flagon and held it with both hands. His lip curled in revulsion as he stared down into the murky green liquid. “Come now,” Horus encouraged his human guinea pig. “I was up all night preparing this especially for you. Drain your cup. Don’t be such a baby. Make believe it’s an ice cold cup of heneket on a hot summer afternoon at the baseball park.”
The vizier shot a dubious glance at whatever the stuff was that had been poured into the cup and then looked back up at Horus. “How could I possibly imagine that foul green brew to be beer?”
Remembering his time at M.I.T. Horus suggested, “Imagine it to be St. Patrick’s day.” Confusion registered upon the vizier’s face, prompting Horus to further explain, “In Boston they have a tradition…”
“I am not interested in Bostonian traditions…”
“Actually, it isn’t Bostonian in origin…”
“Listen, Seven…” the vizier protested.
“Seven?” Horus’s eyebrows arched in amusement. “You still have the audacity…”
“Certainly you can’t expect me to show you an ounce of respect at this point, can you? I don’t care about the history or tradition behind green beer in Boston. I’m not interested in the reasoning behind it, or to which nation it might be considered indigenous. Is it not enough that this disgusting concoction will in all likelihood kill me? Must you also torture me with your inane, trivial drivel?”
“You may end the torture at any moment by simply saying, ‘Bottoms up,’ Vizier.”
“I may as well. Death itself couldn’t be any worse than having to listen to you.” Pensively, the man who once had been in charge of the cloned Egyptian messiah’s education looked back down into the dark green liquid and swirled it around a couple of times as might be done with a drink ordered in a bar. It didn’t swish about lightly in its burnished container like an alcoholic beverage or like water, but sloshed thickly, having a consistency more like blood and an odd, organic odor tinged with a slight tang of decay that induced within him an urge to gag. Gaining control over his nerves and his stomach, the vizier did his best to project a sense of bravado and lifted the cup to take one last swipe at his adversary by means of a final, bitter toast. “Good luck, Seven, with your kidnapped queen.” His tired, bloodshot eyes widened with perverse pleasure as he drank in Horus’s reaction. “I hope you enjoy having to continuously sedate and rape her for many years, or until you are caught and brought to justice.” That said, he chuckled, satisfied with the pain he had inflicted and brought the chalice to his lips.
As soon as the dark, olive green brew started to trickle down his throat, a warm and totally unexpected feeling of immense wellbeing began to course throughout his body. On his face, an expression of surprise and delight began to form.
Intrigued by the reaction he was observing, Horus inquired, “Tell me, what are you feeling, Vizier?”
“Something incredible; far different, I think, than what you had in mind for me. I feel strength; strength and vitality far beyond anything I have ever experienced.” The vizier bent his left arm experimentally to flex his bicep and was amazed by the rising mass and definition of the muscle that appeared. Continuing to describe his sensations, the vizier said, “I feel as if years are melting away…” and as Horus watched he saw deep lines, age spots and wrinkles smoothing out, fading and disappearing. Amazingly, the dry, weatherworn skin transformed into the smooth and supple complexion of a young man in his middle twenties. The pale blue eyes seemed less pale and no longer appeared sunken or partially hidden by the sagging brows of age. They seemed clear, bright and alert. Even the previously bloodshot and slightly yellowed sclera of the eyeballs became whiter. Where before there had stood a man nearing seventy, now there stood a young man of obviously considerable strength who seemed to be getting stronger. With each passing moment, the look of exultation and triumph grew on the vizier’s face.
Unable to remain silent, the Egyptian guard whispered in awe, “Amazing!”
Horus nodded in agreement as the old head master’s clothes became too small for his suddenly more robust frame. One of the buttons on the vizier’s shirt popped off and fell to the floor, bouncing and then rolling to a stop against one of the cot’s metal legs. A second button popped, and then a third, until it became evident that not only the size, but also the basic shape of the vizier’s torso was changing. The smug look of triumph on his face changed to one of pain and surprise as another sound, this one much louder than the noise made by the buttons, seemed to come from somewhere within his chest. It was the sound of a snapping bone, followed by a scream and a curse as the vizier’s spine bent forward, throwing him to the floor. He gasped in agony and looked up accusingly at Horus as his arms and hands sprouted what could only be described as fur, a thick brown fur that proliferated on his face as well. “What have you done to me?” he cried. “What is happening? What ish happedeeg? Whashishap…Whashishashasha…” The vizier’s words dissolved into unintelligible grunts and groans, word formation no longer possible as the muscles and bones in his face twisted and contorted, extending and lengthening into a muzzle similar to that of a jackal.
“I wish I knew,” Horus answered, “but you’ll be pleased to know I have a second, slightly different batch of the liquid you just tested, made with minute ingredient variations. You can try that batch too, assuming you’re still alive, just as soon as this first batch finishes transforming you into whatever it is that you may turn out to be.”
Unintelligible whines and whimpers became howls of pain and anger from the creature with eerily intelligent, blue human eyes, large, furry, pointed ears, a face that combined the features of a baboon with the snout and jaws of a jackal, and a body comprised of an ape’s arms and legs attached to a canine torso.
Before leaving the area reserved for the lab animals, Horus took one
last look at the strange beast that shook and rocked its cage with a fury that seemed almost human. “You must calm down, Vizier. We won’t be able to run any of the tests that might reveal what went wrong until you do.” The rage of the freakish animal in the pen increased as if it understood what had been said. Horus shook his head and turned to the guard who had his rifle aimed at the beast in case it should break free. “Too much caffeine. It can turn you into a real monster.”
Thirty minutes later, an out of breath Ra-Amenhotep entered the laboratory that contained the large vats of the experimental liquid. “I bear troubling news, my Lord,” he bowed, “the request made by the U. N. Peacekeeping forces has been granted. They are on their way here now, crossing the desert in a pair of Apache attack helicopters. Kherep-Isfet has already left the compound. We need to leave as well. What has happened to the vizier? In spite of our differences, I suppose we should find him and let him know.”
Horus responded with, “You needn’t bother. The vizier selflessly volunteered to test the latest formula for the Fluid of Life. I attempted to dissuade him for fear of what might happen should the formula require further refinement, but because of his unwavering devotion to Egypt and the need for expediency, he failed to heed my suggestion that further research should be done.”
When Ra-Amenhotep asked if the vizier had survived the experiment Horus replied, “I assure you, the vizier is alive. He lives and may actually have obtained immortality, but living forever in his current state might be considered by some to be more of a curse than a blessing. I would say though, that overall the results were encouraging. I wish we had the time to test the next batch,” he pointed to the large round vat near the back of the lab that contained the final, untested formula for the Fluid of Life.
Ra-Amenhotep asked, “Should I have the remaining special forces guards go and get the queen so that we may all leave together?”
Horus was stunned. “Is no interference planned by our government’s forces?”
“None of which I am aware, my Lord.”
“Then we shall have to create our own.”
“But my lord, Kherep-Isfet has already left the compound. Until the sacred Fluid of Life is perfected and you bathe in the holy waters you must be assisted by at least two priests to work miracles of war such as the one we performed on the British aircraft carrier. You and I, we would not be able to achieve the kind of results you have in mind.”
“I grow stronger every day, Ra-Amenhotep. We don’t need to freeze a huge ship this time. All we need to do is stir up a sand storm. I doubt that you’ll have any trouble obtaining a bucket full of sand, but do we have an electric fan somewhere around here and can you locate a few wooden helicopter models?”
“We should have electric fans in the storage cabinets, my Lord, and there should be wooden helicopter models among the materials we brought back from England.”
“Get them, and have the Special Forces guards protect the main entrance to the compound. We have much work to do and precious little time.”
Packed together in what resembled a huge, flying locust equipped with machine guns and missiles, Thomas was among the five soldiers aboard one of the two modified Apache helicopters that sped across the Sahara Desert as part of the U. N. Peacekeeping search and rescue mission. Through the gun port on the side of the Apache he could see the other identical ship a hundred yards away that carried the other five men assigned to the mission. With each kilometer that drew him nearer to the great Sphinx at Giza, the images of last night’s dream became stronger and replayed themselves in his memory. Over and over he saw the circular opening in the sand not far from the rear of the ancient monument and heard the cries of the woman he intended to marry. I’m coming, Jeanne, he thought. Just hang on a little longer.
Before daybreak Thomas learned that the Egyptian terrorist known as the Falcon had sent a message to the U.N. warning them that he would kill his captive and embalm her if they approached the Sphinx. Thomas couldn’t believe the friend he had known would do something like that, but neither would he have believed his friend could have killed his father. Like the dream that would not fade, the evil presence that seemed to be guiding and protecting him persisted.
Wondering if anyone else might be feeling something similar he turned to the soldier on his right and asked, “Last night, did you have any dreams?” he shouted over the noise of the whirling blades and the rushing wind, “Stuff that’s weird, or out of the ordinary?”
Corporal Ray Vasquez, a young man who hailed from Houston, Texas replied, “Yeah man, absolutely. Really vivid dreams about my girlfriend, Maria. She was doing some freaky stuff I normally can’t get her to do, like—”
“No, no. Never mind,” Thomas interrupted. “I don’t mean those kinds of dreams. I mean like, well, I dreamed about a hole opening up in the sand near the back of the Sphinx. Did you dream anything like that?”
Vasquez looked at Thomas and said, “Man, you got some weird-ass dreams, homes. What’s up with that hole in the sand? Is that supposed to be some kind of sexual imagery type shit or something?”
Thomas didn’t appreciate being stared at as if he were crazy. Then he realized Vazquez’s eyes were directed at his name patch. Why did I have to open my mouth? Thomas wished he could slip back into the world of anonymity.
Vasquez, on the other hand wasn’t about to let him go. “Hey Franklin. Franklin, que paso? Hey, homey, ain’t you the one whose old man got blown up with the vice president? You are, aren’t you? Somebody told me you were gonna be on this mission.” The young Texan turned to the man sitting on his other side and shouted, “Hey, you know who we got here? We got the guy whose daddy got blown up and whose girlfriend got kidnapped! This mofo is the fool that got our asses sent out here!”
Thomas closed his eyes, rubbed his forehead and cursed, “Shit, shit, shit.” Before he could look back up, the sky went pitch dark. The Apache bucked and lurched upward with no warning, dropping again just as suddenly, sending Thomas’s stomach through the floor and then up into his throat. “What the hell happened?” Thomas screamed, as the copter’s pilot fought to regain control.
The reply, “Sandstorm!” came from someone he couldn’t even see in the sudden dark, not more than a couple of seats away. “This is a bad one, hang on!”
“Hang on? Jesus, Joseph and Mary,” Thomas marveled, what did they think he was going to do, unbuckle his safety harness and go for a stroll? He thought about the other helicopter and how close it had been. Where was it now? Through his tinted goggles as the sky momentarily brightened he could see the other ship 50 yards away, banking in their direction.
Shouting “Look out!” as if his warning might make a difference, Thomas closed his eyes and clenched his teeth, bracing for the inevitable impact. Completely enveloped in a thick cloud of reddish brown powder, the fine dust coated the tongues and mouths and tickled the throats and lungs of each soldier. Thomas’s Apache began to lose altitude again as he heard noticeable changes in the tone of the four whirling blades. Overwhelmed air intake filters clogged, choking and overheating the twin turbo shaft engines, threatening to send both copters plunging into the dunes.
Having previously avoided death when his helicopter developed engine trouble on its way to the HMS Prince of Wales, Thomas thought it altogether fitting that his demise should come as the result of engine failure, or possibly the collision of the two Apaches. But the impact from the other helicopter never came, and the blinding storm that blotted out the sun vanished. As Thomas squinted in the restored light, Vasquez and the rest of the men on board cheered as if they had won a million dollars on some game show.
Stunned, Thomas realized; it happened again. He couldn’t believe it. I was a goner, we were all toast and then something or someone intervened.
Vasquez punched Thomas in his left arm and shouted, “Did you see that? We dodged a bullet this time, for sure! Thank you Jesus!”
Thomas just sat there, numbly, his head bobbing in astonished agreement, al
though he had no idea who they should be thanking.
~~~
“It was working,” Ra-Amenhotep spluttered. “It was working and then something happened, my Lord. I told you we would not be able to —”
“It was not us, Ra-Amenhotep. We created a fierce storm. The two helicopters were going to collide and then we were overpowered. I fear that Set had a hand in this. It is becoming clear that until I bathe in the proper formula for the Fluid of Life he will find a way to defeat me every time.”
“If we cannot stop the U.N. forces then we must abandon the compound, Lord Horus. I will go to the queen and…”
“No!” Horus reached out and grabbed Ra-Amenhotep. “No, I warned them. I told them I would kill her if they came here.”
“But we still have time to escape, my Lord. I know that you love her. There is no need for your queen to die.”
“I appreciate your loyalty and while I do love her, there seems to be no chance that my love for her will ever be returned in this life. I shall commit her to the care of my Holy Father and Mother. Osiris and Aset will look after her in the next life until I can join them. You must assist me in the sacrifice so that her Ka will find its way to the royal barge that will ferry her across the river of life.”
Chapter Thirty-One
When Horus and Ra-Amenhotep reached the forward most section of the subterranean compound, where Jeanne remained imprisoned, they discovered that the medical team entrusted with her sedation had fled.
“Perhaps they left with the others, in the same group that included Kherep-Isfet,” the priest suggested. “But why did they not notify you?”
Horus knew. “They assumed I would not allow them to leave. We must find the medical supplies and do this ourselves.”
“How do you propose to, to…?” The priest hesitated, seeming unwilling to say it.
“Kill her? With potassium chloride, the way that condemned prisoners in the United States are often executed. But if you can’t find the proper drug and a syringe, I’ll be forced to break her neck. Go now,” Horus pointed. “Find the potassium chloride and a large syringe. If you’re not back within ten minutes, I’ll proceed as we have discussed.”
The Falcon and His Desert Rose Page 24
