Dad turns his head. “We need a morgue.”
Twenty feet to our right and dead center in the forty by forty room is a body. “Menkaure?” I ask aloud, mostly to myself. Dad replies with a silent shrug and we amble over to him. It’s the oddest-looking mummy I’ve ever seen too.
“I’m confused,” I say, inspecting the corpse.
“Me too,” Dad says, staring at the body’s hands.
Clutched in the mummy’s uncovered hands, is a knife—a dagger really—and the blade is plunged straight into his heart. Now, I’m not an expert on the subject, but that’s some pretty weird shit right there.
“He killed himself,” Dad says, shrugging out of my grip, limping closer to the body.
“But why?” I ask, stepping up next to him.
“The curse?” Dad asks, glancing at me.
“Come on,” I reply. “You don’t believe that, do you?”
Thankfully, he shakes his head. “No,” he says, pointing at the body, “but he did—enough to take his own life.”
“And the wrappings?” I ask, looking them over. “Why not pay your king some respect and remove the dagger?”
“Because whoever was responsible for his burial was afraid.”
Makes sense, I guess. From what we know, Menkaure was sick and most likely contagious, or at least he believed himself to be.
“Should we be?” I ask.
Dad chuckled. “No, no…” But his confidence was quickly waning. “I don’t see a reason to be. This tomb is roughly 5,000 years old. I doubt any type of pathogen could survive that long.”
“So, you’re an expert on infectious diseases now, are you?”
“I’m not saying you should test my theory or anything.” He moves around me and squints harder at the dagger. “Look at this.”
Moving to the other side of the body, I see what has him transfixed. The dagger is beautiful and completely rust free…and gold. Glyphs cover whatever part of it that isn’t in Menkaure’s chest cavity.
I glance up and see Dad’s lips opening and closing. He understands some of it and is sounding out the words to himself.
“Hey, you.” He looks up at me. “Not all of us can read that crap. What’s it say?”
“Oh,” he says sheepish, “sorry. I guess I’m used to having more educated help—” He stops as my face hardens. “Never mind…”
He explains the writing. “I can’t make all of it out and the rest is buried in, well, you know…” he motions to it. “What I can read talks about the gods forsaking someone and turning their backs on him.”
“Sounds like the weapon was made for just this reason,” I say.
Dad nods. “A ceremonial dagger, designed for the king’s eventual suicide.”
“And to think,” I say, standing and scratching my chin, “I had trouble remembering to do my homework. This guy sure as hell put a lot of thought and effort into this place.”
“Speaking of that…”
I look at Dad. “What?”
He points up. “What do you think is up there?”
I shrug. “Another antechamber, I guess. I don’t think they left us any blueprints down here, though.”
“I think Menkaure, or whoever designed this place, knew more people would eventually come looking for him. He must’ve commissioned a false chamber to be built, protecting his true location.”
“So, let me get this straight…” I say, trying to keep up. “Menkaure was supposed to be buried within his pyramid but wasn’t. And he was so afraid of someone finding his cursed remains that he had a second secret chamber built beneath an already secret chamber. Does that sound about right?”
Scratching his own chin in thought, a mannerism I get from him, he nods. “Yep.”
“Ancient paranoia at its finest.”
I step closer and feel something beneath my foot shift. Before I can voice my displeasure, another boom from above startles us. We’re forced to jump back as a section of the roof starts to fall in on itself. Reacting on pure instinct, I reach out, grip the dagger’s hilt, and yank it free. Tripping, I spill back, watching as a massive, obsidian rectangular cut out lands just inches from my feet. What’s even more shocking is that it perfectly encased Menkaure’s withered remains. It was a controlled landing of sorts, built like a sarcophagus.
“Dad?” I ask, getting a grumbled response back. “You good?”
“Sure…go with that.”
Rolling my eyes, I stand and limp around the foot of the now covered corpse. “Looks like another protective measure,” I say, seeing Dad on his back. I reach down and help him up, earning a whine of protest from the already injured man. “We must’ve triggered something and—”
Dad’s eyes aren’t on me, they’re on the artifact in my free hand. “Oh, this,” I say, holding it up. “I thought we could use some proof.”
“Not the dagger, Harrison… Your hand.”
Holding my closed hand higher, I see a small amount of blood trickle down my wrist. “Damn, must’ve caught it on the blade when I fell back.” I shrug. “Doesn’t feel too bad, I’m good.”
“What about the curse?” Dad asks. “What if Menkaure really did have some type of world-killing virus.”
Looking around, I spot a small opening in the base of the rear wall. I motion to it. “Won’t matter unless we find a way out of here, will it?”
Dad bites his lip, thinking. “You’re right, I suppose. But can you do me a favor?”
“What?” I ask.
Even with our faces only inches apart, he tries to lean away from me. “Don’t sneeze on me.”
* * *
“Hurry!” Ben shouted, shoving Aziz through the crumbling hole. Barely large enough for him to fit, Ben struggled to squeeze his thicker frame through. Stuck halfway, he waited to be crushed.
But it never came. Instead, a massive stone block tumbled towards the collapsing passage, blocking the rubble from burying him. But it also trapped them below, sealing them off from the world above. Alive, Ben finally popped free and fell into a pitch-black space. Two lights bloomed to life nearby and he got his first look at the dull, gray room. And…it was completely void of anything to speak of.
“Huh…” he said, dusting himself off as he stood. “Not exactly what I expected.”
“I’d say so,” Yasin agreed, moving his light off Ben and onto the surrounding room. “Where is Menkaure?”
Aziz could only shrug as he inspected a nearby wall for any clues. But it was plain to see that there was nothing there. All four walls were flat and uninspiring.
“Give me your light for a moment, will you Aziz?” Ben removed his dust covered glasses, as the young man’s light found him again. He procured a cloth from his pocket and began cleaning them in thought, stopping midway. The move didn’t go unnoticed.
“Dr. Fehr?” Aziz asked.
“Where do you think William and Hank went?”
Neither man answered, allowing Ben to continue his still working hypothesis. “What if we are in a false chamber, one built specifically for this reason?”
“To trap us and die?” Aziz asked, sounding understandably nervous.
“No, no…” Ben replied, smiling slightly. He knew what Aziz was feeling. He had some close calls in the past. “What I mean is…what if we were supposed to find this room instead of the true burial chamber?”
“It’s possible,” Yasin said. “Menkaure and his followers have obviously gone to great lengths to keep this place from seeing daylight.”
“Yes…” Ben said, replacing his glasses and clicking on his own flashlight. He then pointed it directly as Yasin. “You have…”
Throwing his hands up, Yasin quickly spoke. “You must believe me, I had no idea what would happen to your friends. Only a select few within Zill Allah knew what truly laid here.”
“Let me guess,” Aziz said, rubbing his neck. “Hamza Abdul-Sharif.”
He nodded.
“Why him?” Ben asked, walking towards the opposite side of th
e room. “What makes him so worthy of such a secret?”
“Because he will do anything to keep this place hidden.” Ben turned and looked at him. “Absolutely anything.”
Nodding, Ben turned away and continued forward, seeing something in the base of the rear wall. “Over here, my friends.”
With all three lights on the small opening, Ben knelt and looked inside, seeing nothing except a long, dark tunnel. He looked up, visualizing the direction they faced. “Due north…hmmm…”
“Dr. Fehr?” Aziz asked, kneeling next to him. “What are you thinking?”
Ben grinned. “Tell me, gentlemen, what lays to the north of us?”
Aziz’s brow scrunched as he thought but it was Yasin that answered. “The pyramids, I believe.”
“And which of the three pyramids is the southernmost?”
“Menkaure’s,” Aziz said, his eyes widening. “You think there’s a way out?”
Ben laughed. “It’s a complete guess at this point but considering where we are—”
“It’s worth a shot,” Yasin finished, nodding his approval of the plan. He stepped forward. “Let me go first.” Ben glanced up at him. “It’s because of me we are here. It’s my responsibility to see you two are safe.” Ben was silent for a moment. “Please, Dr. Fehr.”
Ben slid to his right, allowing Yasin access to the tunnel, stopping him from entering with a strong hand. “Be careful. We have no idea what awaits us down here.” He looked between both men. “I seriously doubt we are out of the woods yet.”
* * *
Quickly shifting the Suburban into reverse, Abe floored it and yanked on the wheel. The second explosive sailed at them with all the fury of Hell itself. Cursing aloud, Abe felt the vehicle lurch to the side, hitting a patch of the newly loosened sand. It was a move that saved his life.
Tipping to the right, the SUV’s driver-side tires left the ground, allowing the deadly Rocket Propelled Grenade (RPG) safe passage beneath its girth. Instead of detonating directly on the vehicle’s front fender, it hit the desert floor, flipping the heavy SUV the rest of the way.
The concussion was enough to daze Abe. With no time to properly buckle his seatbelt, he and the others were thrown about the interior of the rotating vehicle. The front passenger window blew out, tossing the closest man away. His death came with a sickening pop and crunch as the two-ton behemoth crushed his spine.
Abe’s head snapped the rearview mirror from its mount and he ended up headfirst in the passenger seat foot well. Holding onto whatever he could, he shouted and waited for it to be over.
Finally, it was.
The tank-like Chevy landed hard on its right side, stealing whatever breath Abe had left. After a few blissful seconds of peace, he noticed the silence around him. He expected to hear at least some murmurs or expletives. Either the men with him were alive and, like him, too injured or dazed to speak, or they were dead.
Groaning, he quieted as he heard approaching footfalls.
“Stay silent and keep still,” he whispered, hoping someone in the backseat was still alive to follow the order.
Doing the same, Abe tucked his head deeper into the semi-hidden cavity and waited. Somewhat satisfied with his plan, he slid his hand down to his sidearm and clutched it, just in case. He’d be damned if he was executed like a crippled dog. He’d go down fighting and hopefully take Hamza with him.
But before he could even think to draw his weapon, the barrel of a pistol was aimed through a break in the windshield and two bullets were driven into his upper body. Gasping for breath, Abe locked eyes with his shooter, seeing only vehemence in the man’s eyes.
* * *
Hamza Abdul-Sharif smiled a sickly grin, watching as the police chief’s eyes slowly closed. His father’s keeper was finally out of the way, but unfortunately, he’d still be held indefinitely. News of Ghannam’s passing would eventually reach his ears, though. He’d at least take solace in the fact that the man responsible for his imprisonment was dead.
Withdrawing his pistol from the cracked windshield, Hamza circled the SUV. Two of the three men were still alive. The third man wasn’t, his neck already broken. Making a habit out of never leaving anything to chance, Hamza quickly put two rounds in each deputy and stood.
Without another look, he set off into the dark, where his truck was parked. He’d return to the city and disappear into the shadows until everything died down, just as he did when he killed Mido Ghannam.
But first, he thought, visualizing the hidden entrance beneath Menkaure’s pyramid, I need to finish this.
9
“Stay close,” I say as I enter the three by three square cut tunnel. The walls are smooth and precisely pieced together just like everything else I’ve seen so far. It’s a feat that’s always amazed me. How did the people of the era do it?
Yet another question for another day.
“Close is all about what’s in front of you,” Dad replies, none too pleased with being mere inches from my butt.
Doing my best to refrain from executing a perfectly timed fart joke, I just continue forward in silence. It’s not easy shuffling on all fours while gripping a flashlight in one hand and a dagger in the other. The thought of the weapon returns my thoughts to my damaged palm. It stings a lot but I figure it’s mostly because of the 5,000-year-old grime being shoved into it as I move.
Or could it really be some ancient illness? Feeling a bead of sweat roll down my temple, I will it to be the former. The last thing I need right now is some ancient disease sapping my strength. I need to stay strong for everyone—not just Dad.
“You think Ben and the others are okay?” I ask, seeing only darkness ahead of me, my light barely penetrating the pitch.
“As long as they survived whatever caused the cave-in, yes, I’d say they’re fine. Aziz and Yasin may not look like much but they’re very capable individuals.”
“And Ben?”
I hear Dad chuckle slightly. “He may put on a solid front, but knowing him, he’s scared out of his mind.”
“And you?”
“You know me better than anyone, son. How do you think I’m doing?”
Now it’s my turn to laugh. “You’re frightened but more so because of your proximity to my ass than anything else.”
“Bingo.”
I grin. Dad and I are more alike than either one of us will ever care to admit. He was like me in his youth from what Grandpa had told me. He even went as far as to say that I was a spitting image of him; smart but a little reckless and not one to play by anyone else’s rules. Maybe, just maybe, it’ll change as we spend more time together in the field, relying on one another for more than just a laugh?
I sure hope so…
“You see anything yet?” he asks, groaning. “My knee can’t take much more of this.”
“Not much, unfortunately, but I think there might be something up—”
As soon as my right hand comes down, the ground opens beneath me. Screaming as my upper half enters the void, my voice is cut off as I thankfully jolt to a stop. Taking a second to catch my breath, I see what I would’ve fallen into. In the aura of my dangling flashlight—of which is lashed to my wrist—I see six rows of sharpened spikes.
“Holy damn,” I say to myself, realizing I was this close to becoming a man-kabob. I tip forward another inch, the tiny movement sending me into a full-fledged panic. “Pull me up!”
“Trying!” Dad shouts back, pulling on the back of my jeans. “Lose some weight, will ya!”
Now at the mercy of my father’s strength, I stop struggling and wait as he begins to haul me back. Luckily for me, he’s in pretty good shape. Once my chest and head are even with the front edge of the pit, I crawl back the rest of the way myself and fall flat on my face, expelling a large, held-in breath. A puff of dust billows away from my mouth, stirring me into rolling over and sitting up.
Seeing Dad’s sweaty face, I nod my thanks and turn around. Leaning over the hole a little, I aim my flashlight into
it. “Damn booby trap.” I then shine my light across the three-foot expanse, knowing my need to keep moving.
“No choice,” Dad says, understanding the same, “we need to cross.”
Gritting my teeth, I get into a catcher’s squat, roll onto the balls of my feet, and dive forward over the death trap. I land hard on the other side with a thud and a cloud of dust. Turning around, I set down the dagger and coax my dad across. Instead, of going all-out like me, he simply steps across the void, putting on an impressive display of flexibility. The distance isn’t the issue but it becomes one with the low ceiling overhead, making the move look that much more awkward. As his foot hits my side, I grab his shirt and yank him across the rest of the way.
Stumbling on his bad leg, I steady him and slap him on the back. “Nice moves.”
He shrugs. “I guess all that yoga is finally paying off.”
I smile. He and Mom used to do a couple’s class a few years back. I knew he kept up with it after she died but not to what extent.
Seems like he’s going regularly… How didn’t I know that?
I shake my head at what little I actually know about my own father. Since he became my boss, I’ve started treating him that way, hanging out less and less outside of work. It’s harder than it sounds considering we live together.
Never again…
Grabbing the dagger, I slide its blade into my belt and face forward. “Let’s see where this goes.” I take a step and stop, glancing over my shoulder. “And let’s take it as slow as we can.”
“Good thinking,” Dad says, smirking.
We head out again and eventually come upon a downward sloping shaft. If I had to guess, I’d say it’s cut at a perfect forty-five-degree angle. I frown when I see that it’s the same cramped diameter.
“Deeper…” I sigh, my shoulders dropping. “Really?”
“Looks like it.”
Getting an idea, I reposition myself so I’m sitting on my butt. “Try to use the walls to control your speed. The more drag you have the slower you’ll go.” I slide forward and suck in a deep breath, trying to calm myself some. “Like a shitty carnival slide.” One more breath. Here we go…”
The Cursed Pharaoh (The Hank Boyd Origins Book 1) Page 7
