Heart of the Gods

by Valerie Douglas

  But for funerary tombs for the priests and priestesses of the Gods?

  They were definitely closer.

  “Show me,” he said.

  Glancing over her shoulder, she hesitated a moment and then said, “See, here, where the papyrus has faded. If you look closely you can see where the trace of a ligature is…”

  She reached for the magnifying glass, handed it to him.

  “See for yourself.”

  Ky let out a sigh. He did. Now.

  “Ryan?” he asked.

  “Here you go, boss,” Ryan said, handing him a sheaf of papers.

  Ky glanced at them and smiled. Just the ones he wanted. All of the translations were under debate and in a variety of languages and styles. The images were good, detailed. It would be a challenge and had been a challenge for some of the best.

  “Let’s see how you do with these,” he said, keeping his tone carefully neutral.

  She looked at him with those too-wise eyes.

  “Another test?” she said with a smile, and then nodded.

  Leaving her to it―her scent was driving him crazy―he walked over to Ryan with a glance to John and Komi.

  “What do you think?” he asked softly with a grin, already anticipating Ryan’s answer. “Should I hire her?”

  He looked at Ryan, who despite the difference in their ages had become a friend, a trusted confidant.

  The grad student had been a godsend and become Ky’s good right arm. He didn’t know what he’d do without him at this point. Without question or quarrel and most of the time without having to be asked, Ryan took on the chores that needed to be done, freeing Ky up to follow his obsession. As soon as Ryan graduated, Ky intended to find a way to hire him, although he hadn’t told him that yet.

  Ryan looked at him as if he’d gone crazy. He glanced from Ky to the girl.

  “Should you hire her?” he asked, softly, incredulously. “Have you looked at her, boss? She’s fucking gorgeous. Should you hire her? Did you see that smile? She’s fucking gorgeous and she knows her stuff? Hell, yes, you should hire her.”

  With a shrug, eyeing the girl appreciatively, John said, grinning. “I got no problem with it, either, boss.”

  Knowing what Komi’s answer would likely be, Ky still asked.

  With his usual diffident shrug, Komi said, in his usual halting manner. “It’s your decision, Professor.”

  Ky had learned the hard way to keep his team involved in the decision making, especially regarding personnel. Once or twice they’d brought people on who hadn’t quite fit and it had wreaked havoc. He wasn’t taking that chance again. He had a good team.

  Walking back to the desk, he bent over beside the girl, watched as she traced the hieroglyphics with one hand and translated the text with the other. Her scent snared him once again.

  Glancing at her transcription, his eyebrows shot up…

  “So you disagree with Schlichtmann on this?” he said, leaning over her and pointing to one of the more controversial passages in Schlichtmann’s translation.

  Her hair, silken, brushed his cheek softly.

  Turning her head, she looked up at him.

  Up close, those eyes were even lovelier and they widened a little as she looked at him, her soft lips parting.

  There was a second, a brief second as something moved in her eyes.

  Very gently she said, amused, “You didn’t ask me to translate what Schlichtmann said. You asked me to translate the text.”

  “And that’s two,” Ryan said, grinning, in the background. “She shoots, she scores.”

  Ky had to laugh. “I did, indeed. May I ask why you translated it this way?”

  Those eyes met his again, her perfectly arched brows drew together a little.

  “This I do not understand. They have …biases…that I don’t understand. Discounting that, you asked me to translate the document, not my opinion of it…”

  Ky looked at her in pleased surprised.

  She was willing to refute one of the foremost Egyptologists, state her opinion clearly and well and stick to the text and not her own opinion of what it ‘should’ say.

  As Ryan said, hell, yes he should hire her.

  He couldn’t keep thinking of her as ‘her’ and ‘she’.

  “What’s your name?” he asked.

  With a small laugh, she said, offering her hand, “Raissa Campion.”

  “Raissa,” he said, “it’s a lovely name.”

  To his surprise she ducked her head in pleasure and smiled a little. “Thank you. And you are Professor Farrar, then?”

  “Yes,” he said, taking the offered hand in his. It was strong, steady. “Ky Farrar.”

  “Does this mean I’m hired?” Raissa asked, looking up at him hopefully.

  He smiled. “It does, so long as your work speaks for itself.”

  Smiling more openly in return, far too aware of how close he was, Raissa took a slow breath.

  “I won’t disappoint you, Professor.”

  “I’m sure you won’t,” he said, oddly aware of the mild and unintended double entendre.

  She gave him an amused and speculative look, hearing something in his voice.

  Yes, she saw far too much with those pretty eyes.

  From the back of the room, a voice said, dramatically, “He shoots, he…just… misses…”

  Ryan.

  Both of them turned to look at him as Raissa laughed.

  Watching the interaction, Ky relaxed. This might work very well. Very well, indeed.

  “Fine,” she said, “when do I start? “

  There was so much waiting to be translated―Ky had almost resigned himself to returning either to Luxor or Cairo to get it done.

  Giving her a look in return, Ky smiled and said, “I think you already have. What do you need?”

  With a smile, she said, “A comfortable chair, a table and good light by a window. Natural light is better to see by.”

  Ryan was already up, hurriedly and helpfully moving one of the chairs beside a window, grinning.

  The table was simply to set things on Ky discovered.

  Her position in the chair might seem unorthodox but it worked for her.

  She made herself comfortable curled into the chair sideways, a clipboard padded with cotton gloves to hold the work in place and a pad of paper beside it on which to write the translation. Her legs either dangled over one side or were up against the wall, while her head was propped by the wing of the chair. Now and then she would angle the clipboard to view the fragile papyrus or the piece of clay tablet in a better light.

  It took only an hour for the boys to begin to loosen up again. And five minutes more for Raissa to join in absently as she worked, a small smile touching the corners of her mouth as she added a idle comment to their banter.

  Ryan’s eyes lit up with glee the first time she responded.

  It was working.

  With a sigh and a smile, Ky returned to his work.

  Ryan watched the girl. Woman. Whatever.

  Her eyes cut to the Professor, a little frown creasing her forehead.

  “Don’t get any ideas,” he said, keeping his voice low.

  She looked at him, those blue eyes too old, too knowing. She quirked an eyebrow and smiled, a little amused, a little questioning.

  Ryan looked at Professor Farrar. He was of mixed opinion about him. The man was his employer and sort of a friend.

  “The Professor has a strict policy against fraternizing with employees.”

  “Ah,” she said softly. “You’re a good friend, Ryan. I had not considered it but it’s probably for the best. The resemblance is rather striking, though.”

  Relaxing a little, Ryan nodded. “I think he likes it in a way, makes him feel connected, but he doesn’t like to talk about it.”

  “Thank you again,” she said, and smiled.

  Damn, but he was starting to like her.

  As always meals were brought to the suite. It was simpler for everyone on many
levels. Not least of which was it didn’t disturb anyone’s sensibilities or increase the tension in the area.

  Or so Ky hoped.

  While the locals were certainly happy for the jobs and money brought by the dig, they weren’t quite as happy it was an American who discovered it or that Americans were involved in uncovering it.

  Americans weren’t popular hereabouts these days, not the way they’d once been.

  Once this had been a relatively prosperous area but the hazardous political situation kept all but the most intrepid tourists away. Some dedicated few still came through to look at the cave drawings. Which made the local economy chancy at best, adjustments had been made by the hotel owner to accommodate their presence here.

  It was a troubled area at the best of times situated as it was in the corner where Egypt, the Sudan―once the Kush―and Libya met. Some old prehistoric sites already existed nearby but this area was distant from the more popular tourist destinations to the north. The political and religious difficulties of the region had met and found a home here.

  There had been incidents in the past, some violent―a kidnapping of a busload of tourists, occasional assaults―even before the fort had been discovered.

  Ky was careful not to further inflame the tensions but some misunderstandings and disagreements had been unavoidable.

  Anything that served to remind the local population of the presence of Americans only aggravated the situation, which was why they took their meals up here rather than in the tiny restaurant downstairs.

  To his bemusement Ky’s own accent was less of an issue here than Ryan and John’s.

  He’d spent his youth and now most of his adult life travelling the world but he held a joint U.S./Israeli passport. Some mistook his accent for South African, or Australian, to his amusement and occasional consternation, although most of those were Americans and American women at that. It served him pretty well over the years, he had to admit. Most of them described his accent as sexy.

  He had to admit that Raissa’s was much more intriguing, fluid. As was she… He kept catching her glancing at him now and then curiously with those beautiful blue eyes.

  Of course, she also caught him looking at her.

  She was a lovely young woman.

  That hair was gorgeous, long, silky soft, wavy. There were times when he just wanted to grab a handful of it…

  Watching her when she bent over a little at the desk, holding back her hair with one hand while chewing on her lip, had been a pleasure and a torment. The little sundress clung nicely to her full breasts, slender waist and revealed shapely dancer’s legs.

  Currently on display across the arm of the chair along with her pretty feet.

  She was such a temptation already, making him question his own decisions.

  Ryan made some comment. She lifted her head to look at him and smile.

  It was amazing how well she fit in with the other members of the team. Ky didn’t want to screw that up.

  Hearing the knock at the door though, Raissa glanced at it, then swept up the abaya from where she’d tossed it over the chair when she’d arrived and disappeared around a corner.

  While undoubtedly someone at the hotel had sent her up to their rooms and the staff knew she was here, the less attention paid to her presence the better it was for all concerned―and always better with the abaya on in this corner of the world than with it off.

  Which explained why she’d disappeared.

  Ky wondered how she’d survived in the town so far, a woman of European descent with no man to stand for her―something that in this culture was necessary.

  She had to have rooms somewhere in town but it only occurred to him now to wonder where?

  Hearing the door close behind the waiter, Raissa peered around the corner, smiling a little.

  “Is it safe?” she asked, the blue eyes twinkling.

  The boys were already descending on the food like locusts.

  With a nod and an answering smile, Ky said, “It’s safe. Come on out.”

  But her eyes were already fixated on the food.

  As hard as she tried to eat delicately it became rapidly apparent to all of them that she was starving.

  Suddenly aware of the attention, she looked up, her guileless blue eyes going from one curious or amused face to another, looking slightly abashed.

  “What?” she asked.

  Ryan said rubbing his rounded belly. “And I thought I was bad.”

  Gently, Ky asked, “Raissa, when was the last time you ate?”

  Color flushed her face.

  A little abashed, with a slight roll of her eyes and a small shrug she said, “A full meal? It’s been some little while. I’d have to think about it…” She eyed the bread on his plate avidly and then grinned entreatingly. “Are you going to eat that?”

  Those vivid blue eyes were like a punch in his gut as she gave him that quick sparkling glance.

  He did like looking at them.

  Amused, he shook his head and she snatched the piece of bread from his plate with an impish grin and stuffed it indelicately into her mouth.

  Rolling her sparkling eyes with pleasure made them all laugh.

  It had to be even more difficult for her to get meals.

  For that matter when had she last been paid? Ky wondered. And in what manner? How was she supporting herself now? If she had no papers, she couldn’t find much legitimate work.

  “Do you need money?”

  Her eyes flicked to his, uncomfortably, and then darted away again.

  “Why didn’t you ask?”

  She shifted uncomfortably, a little embarrassed. “I didn’t know I could.”

  “Catch me before you leave today,” he said, firmly.

  It was likely her previous employer only paid when she completed her services so she would have had to finish the work before he paid her for it. And if she’d been working on something when he died?

  Which brought up another subject.

  “Raissa,” Ky asked, “how much of your previous employer’s goods was coming from the dig site?”

  Those pretty eyes lifted to his as she, delicately this time, popped another bite of food into her mouth.

  Once more she looked more than slightly apologetic.

  “I’m afraid more than you’d like,” she said with a sigh.

  Ky looked at her, suppressing anger. It wasn’t her fault.

  “How much written?” Ky asked.

  “There was some,” she said, honestly. “Papyrus…clay tablets…”

  His heart sank. “Do you know what he did with it? Had he sold all of it?”

  There was a chance he might be able to buy it back.

  Raissa looked at him and shook her head. “I don’t know. He didn’t tell me. I can try to find out for you, if you’d like.”

  “If you would,” Ky said.

  There was always the chance the one missing piece of the puzzle, the crucial one, was among the pieces he didn’t have.

  Chapter Five

  Munich, Germany

  It was galling, infuriating, to be called before his superiors and his seniors at the University to be chastised this way. Heinrich been careless, true, claiming Mueller’s work as his own, but they always wanted results, the name of the University in all the papers and they certainly hadn’t asked such questions of him when he succeeded.

  It infuriated him.

  When he didn’t succeed, didn’t turn the archeological world on its ear?

  He was called before them.

  Heinrich Zimmer strode down the stone-walled hall of the University past the students, oblivious to them as anger darkened his vision.

  When he didn’t succeed, or didn’t succeed fast enough, it was all on him. They called his methods into question, his deeds, his actions. Everything.

  How dare they!

  They wanted the Tomb of the Djinn found, the Horn itself if possible. And the Heart of the Gods.

  Why had he gone into archaeology in
the first place? Heinrich asked himself bitterly.

  For fame and fortune?

  Because it was a career that would annoy his father and enable him to travel the world?

  Because women were impressed with it, imagining scenes from American movies and not endless days in dust and dirt with brushes, trowels and tweezers.

  He’d become an archeologist for all of those reasons, to some extent, especially for that last. Not that it had done him the least good.

  Fortunately he learned early how to benefit from the labor of others, befriending them, earning their trust, even bedding some of them if necessary before presenting their work as his own. As he had with Mueller. It had taken some groveling, some explaining, waving it away as a simple mistake, easily rectified.

  He’d done his days of servitude on dig sites, he’d had to, but no more, now he had others to do those chores.

  Still, all they could do to him these days was to pull his academic credentials. That only mattered so much once you had gained a certain measure of fame or could claim prejudice and conspiracy. Fools. Something which his other source of funding, the Church of Christ in the World, had a great deal of experience. If he could convince them of it―not a difficult undertaking he knew―they would be more than willing to help him.

  A very distant sect of the Catholic Church with strong leanings toward the belief that the Bible, complete as it stood, both Old and New Testaments, was the direct Word of God, the Church of Christ in the World was determined to prove all of the Bible’s mysteries. Such proof being all they believed they needed in the face of secular doubt to declare that their version of Christianity was the correct, true one and that all others, all other religions and faiths, were therefore patently false.

  Including Islam and Judaism.

  Somehow they’d learned of the search for the Tomb of the Djinn.

  The legendary Djinn, or what some called Genii, who in some versions of the Old Testament helped Solomon raise the Temple. Some called them Demons. Some sects of Islam believed Djinn were both light and dark and looked at good Djinn in the same way some Christians did guardian angels. Those of the Church believed if they could capture a dark Djinn they could prove all Djinn were demons and therefore evil. That only Solomon had ever controlled them and so all who claimed affinity with them were therefore possessed by demons and evil. So therefore Islam was false and once they proved that it followed that all of Islam was false.