Masks of the Lost Kings (Suzy da Silva Series)

by Tom Bane

  PHOOOOOSSSH! BANG!

  Everything happened so fast, that Suzy had trouble comprehending it.

  She could see Hamid lying at the foot of the stairwell, but the noise didn’t seem to be coming from his direction. What the hell was it? Where was it coming from? A second later, a boulder, at least eighteen inches in diameter, thundered down the shaft toward them. Suzy leaped up against the wall just in time, her arms outstretched and her palms trying to adhere themselves to the bare rock. The boulder hurtled past her, bounced off a small step on the ground and ricocheted against the opposite wall, finally coming to a halt in a cloud of dust and small debris. The echo of its descent mingling with the final resounding crash, which filled the passageway with deafening noise, its impact seemed to shake the pyramid itself.

  Suzy ran to see if Hamid was OK, as the dust cloud settled on him. He seemed to still be asleep despite the explosion right above his head. Omid was looking around, trying to work out where the boulder had come from.

  Hamid was not moving. Suzy reached for his head. Her fingers retracted his collar and she pressed his carotid artery to feel for a pulse. Nothing.

  “Oh, my God, Omid. He’s dead!”

  “Dead?” Omid looked frightened now. “I thought the rock had missed him.”

  “So did I. It’s killed him!” Suzy heard a faint tapping sound.

  “What was that?” Omid asked, his head swiveling one way and the other as he tried to work out what was happening.

  “Is there someone up there?” Suzy whispered. For a second she thought she had glimpsed a shadow crossing the upper steps of the Grand Gallery.

  “Let’s go.” Omid said. Suzy discreetly pocketed a rock before moving out. Something sinister was after them. She had felt it all along and now she was sure.

  She crouched and started running again on all fours. Omid was behind her now, trying to keep up. In less than a minute, she had reached the entrance. Springing upright, she made for the gate.

  Damn! She’d forgotten they were still locked inside, still prisoners. Omid was not out of the passageway yet but she could hear his footsteps. She ran back for him.

  WHOOSH!

  The electricity came to a shuddering halt, sending her stumbling into the darkness again. “Omid, Omid?” she yelled.

  “Yes, here.” There was no disguising the panic in both their voices now.

  CRACK!

  Silence. Suzy froze, waiting to see what would happen next. Out of the black darkness, Omid’s body fell on top of her, knocking her off her feet and propelling her back down the passageway like a rolling rock. They rolled to a halt in a pool of faint moonlight, his immobile weight pinning her to the ground. His face, close to hers, looked white against the dark stain of blood that was spreading across her shirt. Had he been hit by another boulder? Was the pyramid collapsing?

  Suzy pulled herself out from beneath his motionless body. Was he dead, too? His blood was pooling across the dusty rock floor. Suzy peered up the ascending passageway, trying to see if there was anything there. It was pitch black. She rummaged through Omid’s cloak for his flashlight, aware that she was stealing from a dead man. Finding it, she fumbled with the switch and shone the beam up the passageway with a shaking hand. There was nothing there. She looked back down. She was covered in blood, and for a split second she was convinced she was going to die.

  Think, think! Suzy tried to remember whether there were any niches or hide-holes in the tunnel. Could someone be hiding up there?

  “They are after ben-ben—” Omid groaned, making her start.

  “Omid!” Suzy knelt down, cradling his head and put her ear close to his mouth. “Omid, what is happening?”

  Omid gasped, trying to force words out from his lips, but only a rattling sigh escaped. He went limp in her arms.

  Think! Think! She must get out, but how? She looked at her watch, panicked. Should she wait quietly here for ten minutes for the guards to return to unlock the padlock? There was nothing that could be done for Omid now. But what if the pyramid was collapsing? Would the guards ever return for her? Would they ever be able to find her under so many thousands of tons of stone? She could scream for help out of the entrance grille, but what if someone else heard her, and found her with two dead men, covered in blood? If she waited for the guards to come back, at least they could attest to her entering the pyramid if she got into trouble, otherwise her alibi of entering and getting locked in would be lost. She shone the flashlight back up the ascending passageway to check whether another boulder was coming down.

  Suzy’s heart was pounding; this was going to be the longest few moments of her life as she waited for the guards to unlock the gate. The blood pool from Omid spread further over the floor. This poor man had lost his life trying to help her, but she could do nothing to help him now. As she shone the flashlight on him she noticed that the blood seemed to have been emanating from his neck. Odd, she thought. Looking closely, she saw that it was not a gash but a clean slice. It looked like a knife wound. How could that be? She must be mistaken.

  Tap, tap

  Swinging around, Suzy shone the light back up the passageway. There was nothing there. Perhaps it was the sound of the pyramid—maybe the structure was loose. Where else could that boulder have come from?

  Maybe there was some human involvement in these deaths, an assassin moving silently around the pyramid in the dark, watching and waiting for opportunities to strike? She was sure there were no niches or cuttings in the walls, or at least she tried to convince herself that was the case. Was the assassin controlling the electricity supply?

  Creak, creak

  Suzy whirled around and shone the flashlight into the blackness—nothing. She checked again—nothing. She checked her watch again. Five minutes to go until the guards arrive; it seemed like five years. She was safest not to yell for help as she would end up arrested and lose her chance of the PhD forever. Her mother would be ashamed of her. She could explain it better with the two guards who had let her in; if the authorities accused her then she had a firm alibi. She wished she could think more clearly, more rationally. She must calm herself if she was going to survive this.

  Tap, tap

  If it was an assassin, was he going to kill her? Where was he? He was not in the ascending passage or she would have seen him with the flashlight. Could he be climbing right now down into the bedrock, scaling down the well tunnel, where Omid said the original pyramid builders had escaped? If so, in five minutes he would emerge up the descending passageway beneath to murder her. It suddenly seemed like the most obvious answer.

  Oh, my God, what now? She raced toward the entrance grille and shook it. The huge steel padlock stood firm.

  Tap, tap she heard the noise again.

  Suzy couldn’t risk waiting any longer. Yelling for help was futile; the assassin would sense the kill. She had another idea.

  Concentrating her eyes like a laser beam on the entrance padlock she studied every detail. It was big but it was also rusting and old. She jammed the wedge-shaped flashlight into the D-ring of the padlock and it fitted snugly. She hammered her fist on the end of the flashlight to force it open. Nothing.

  She smashed it harder with her hand. Harder, harder. It wasn’t working, but the flashlight was now lodged inside the padlock. Damn! She had no light to see behind her now. She tried harder, harder to hammer it through the gap with the heel of her palm. It was stuck fast. Damn, what a stupid idea!

  Tap, tap

  The noise was louder this time, getting closer. Suzy gave a start. Omid’s ring of keys! She could lock the metal doorway to the descending passageway to block the assassin! She dove back to Omid’s body to find the keys, searching around his blood-soaked robe. She couldn’t find it. It wasn’t there. Shit! Shit! She stood up, caked in blood and rock dust.

  BANG! SWOOSH … CRACK!

  The electricity surged back into life again illuminating the whole horrible scene.

  Something moved in the corner of her vision. Swin
ging around, she spotted what she thought was the long shadow of a crouched man coming up the descending passageway about thirty feet away. It must be the assassin.

  Suzy turned back to the padlock. It was her only chance. She could hear his footsteps now.

  Tap, tap

  Running as fast as she could back to the entrance gate, she leaped into the air and side-kicked the flashlight with her boot heel. The flashlight spliced through the steel padlock, springing it open. Heaving the gate open, she stumbled out into the night. The killer’s footfall was nearly upon her. She was out of the pyramid, but there was a rush of movement behind her and a hand grabbed her boot and pulled her back in. She struggled, her hands clinging to the gate, her fingernails scraping across the rock entranceway. She was slipping back.

  “Su-zee, Su-zee,” the assassin hissed.

  Suzy screamed with all her strength. She could not resist the force of whoever was behind her, dragging her back down the stone steps to her death.

  “Su-zee, Su-zee.”

  She lifted up her right knee and kicked back like a mule. His hand released and she scrambled forward, hurling herself through the open gate. She launched herself like a sprinter on the gun-start, crouching then upright, running as fast as she could, running for her life down the causeway toward the streets of Cairo.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Soft cocktail piano music permeated the late evening calm of the hotel, while perforated musharabiya screens cast their shadows across the lobby. It was after midnight and downstairs in the cool basement nightclub a sinuous belly dancer rippled from flank to flank along the red seats and the poorly hidden smiles of male guests. A wailing, pulsating orchestra of Egyptian strings, reeds and drums drove the dancer further and further into a dervish-like frenzy. Another ancient evening had slipped by in this perfumed palace.

  Suzy entered the reception cautiously. A woman returning late to a hotel on her own was conspicuous and she wanted to be as discreet as possible. She was expecting Getsu to spring out from behind a pillar at any moment, furious at being given the slip. She had managed to buy a robe from a late night shop on the way back, covering the bloodstains on her shirt with the scarf that Omid had made her buy so that the shopkeeper did not see them. The robe was made of rough material and she knew it looked cheap, not the sort of garment you would expect a guest in an expensive hotel to be wearing. All she wanted was to get to her room and lock her door behind her.

  She had run nearly all the way back to the hotel, taking countless wrong turns as panic built inside her, ignoring the shouts of men offering to help her, or maybe just shouting abuse at a woman out on her own so late. Shock mingled with her panic as it dawned on her that she’d used her jiu-jitsu for real. What had started off as nothing more than a therapeutic response to grief had actually saved her life. And her martial arts master had been spot on—she hadn’t needed the brutal effects of knives or guns, just one well-aimed ushiro-geri back-kick had done it.

  She wanted to be safe tonight and then get the hell out of Egypt tomorrow. She’d had enough. She kept the scarf pulled over her face so that it would be invisible. If the police were asking questions about the bodies in the pyramid the next day, she needed as few people as possible to be able to accurately describe what she looked like. Once she was safe in her room, she would telephone Professor Piper to tell him what had happened. He’d be able to advise her; he’d know whether to trust the police or not.

  She sidled up to the reception desk, angry with herself for not thinking to take her room key with her when she climbed out the window earlier that evening.

  “I am in room ninety six,” she said, as confidently as she could. “I have lost my key. May I have a spare one?”

  “Yes, certainly, Madam,” the receptionist said, looking at her suspiciously. The phone on his desk rang. “Just a moment, please.” He picked up the phone, staring at Suzy as he talked, dangling the key in his hand before her.

  “Yes … yes … aha … yes … oh, I see … yes—” he said. He gently placed the onyx receiver beside its cradle and put the key down next to it. Suzy’s stare and stiff posture communicated her impatience.

  “Madam, allow me a moment …” He tapped the computer keyboard, looked curiously at some details and picked up the phone again. “Yes that’s fine.”

  Finally, with deliberately exaggerated care, he replaced the phone and handed her the heavy key. She snatched it up and swung around too fast, bumping straight into an unseen man behind her.

  “Delighted you could make it!” The voice sounded familiar. She looked up into the face of Dr. Tom Brooking.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” she blurted, reassured by the sight of a familiar face but also horrified to be seen by someone who could identify her. She looked down to avoid his amused stare and noticed that his boots were dusty with sand.

  “And how nice to see you, too,” he replied sarcastically. He was obviously enjoying her discomfort. “How are you?”

  “What? Uh, yes, I’m fine.” She was babbling as she struggled to regain her composure, aware that the receptionist was listening. “What do you want?”

  “Well, I just came up from Nabta Playa,” he replied, sounding surprised she didn’t know. “Anyway, now that we’re both here, do you fancy a quick drink in the bar before you retire?”

  “Uh, no, thanks, can’t,” she mumbled, “I have to pack.”

  “OK, fine. Maybe we could do breakfast together instead. What’s your room number?”

  “I don’t do breakfast.”

  Brooking was undeterred. “I found some things you might be interested in at Nabta, things that might relate to the Orion Correlation Theory. You know, I think we have some pretty exciting talking to do.”

  “Really, I mean it. No, thanks.” She turned away and walked briskly toward the elevators.

  “Hey, I am sorry if I offended you back in Oxford, I didn’t mean to. I spoke to—”

  “No harm done,” she said, between gritted teeth, jabbing repeatedly at the elevator button. Why couldn’t he just leave her alone?

  “No, really it was my fault.” He sounded genuinely remorseful. “I’ve since spoken to Piper and he said—”

  “Look,” she cut him short, again. She had no time for remorse, let alone this latest transparent attempt at being buddies. “I have had a bad day, so if you will just let me go, I will be fine. Now, good night.” She turned her back to him again and stabbed the button again.

  Brooking watched as she got into the elevator, until the doors closed between them. He continued watching the dial, noting where the elevator stopped, before turning and walking toward the cocktail lounge.

  Upstairs, Suzy closed the curtains of her room, got undressed, and filled the bathtub with cold water, putting her clothes in to soak. Pulling on a hotel bathrobe, she dialed Professor Piper’s number, using her cell phone.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The croak in Piper’s voice suggested Suzy had woken him up but she seriously needed to debrief someone she trusted. She proceeded to pour out the whole story in a single, uninterrupted monologue, concluding with an appeal to Piper for his advice.

  “Do you think I should go to the Cairo police and tell them exactly what I know? Or should I get myself onto the first flight out of here tomorrow morning?”

  “Forget about going to the Cairo police,” Piper said, now completely alert. “And you must stay in Cairo for at least another few days. If they are looking for you and you try to board a plane, they will immediately apprehend you. If these deaths are murders and you are seen to be fleeing the city they will see that as an admission of guilt. Believe me, once you are inside an Egyptian prison it could take months to get you out, or even get you a fair trial, maybe even years. My advice is to continue with your research as if nothing has happened. Just act normal. Then, after a few days, go south to Tut’s tomb. That way you’ll be able to get some more research done and travel back more easily or skip across the border into Israel if it
becomes necessary.”

  Suzy was not reassured by the option of escaping to Israel. “But what should I do if they arrest me in the meantime?”

  “The Cairo police are a shambles. I doubt they will get anywhere close to finding you.” Piper said. “And, anyway, I’m sure it wasn’t anything sinister at all. Maybe it was just a rock fall.”

  She knew full well it was not. She could still feel the assassin’s tight grasp around her leg. But she wasn’t sure she could convince Piper at this distance. Instead, she returned to practicalities. “But what if I am questioned? I can’t deny I was inside the Great Pyramid.”

  “Well, it’s certainly going to be tricky explaining that, but if it was some kind of bizarre assassination, it will be obvious from the forensics,” the Professor assured her. “So you won’t be wrongly accused unless you do anything to make yourself look guilty.”

  Suzy accepted that argument, but still felt alone and vulnerable. “Don’t you know any important people—I don’t know, at the university, perhaps? Someone you can speak to on my behalf?” Piper chuckled.

  “Of course, but I don’t think that is necessary yet. For the moment it would be better to avoid the authorities.”

  Just hearing his familiar, avuncular voice made her feel calmer about the situation. If he didn’t think there was anything to be worried about, then she was willing to trust his judgment. If Hamid had just been hit by a falling rock and Omid had just fallen down the stairs, then everything was explainable. But she knew the truth was more sinister.

  “I suppose so.”

  “The Great Pyramid can play havoc with the human emotions,” Piper went on. “I have seen grown men quake with fright once they get inside, reduced to tears in some cases; the sheer might of the structure can play tricks with the mind.”

  “But how could a rock fall and hit that man, Hamid, and later Omid?” Suzy tried to think logically. “And what about his throat? It was definitely cut.”

  “They are doing some repair work inside,” Piper said. “I think the corbelled ceiling in the grand gallery is being maintained. It could be that a joist slipped and cut him. I will make some discreet inquiries.”