The Amun Chamber

by Daniel Leston

  He paused, gathering his thoughts.

  “Mr. DeCaylus left for Alexandria almost immediately, and I never saw him again. Nor did I expect to. On the following morning my brother’s body was pulled from the sea beneath the very cliffs just beyond where my grandson now sits. All believed Nawal must surely have slipped and fallen to his death. But I knew it was no accident! The fate of my brother and Mr. DeCaylus was sealed the very moment they violated that desolate valley. It could end no other way.” He looked pointedly at his guests. “I’ve no doubt you both think me mad to believe this, but I will tell you now what I never told another. With my own eyes I saw the moment of Nawal’s death—and I could not live with myself if I did not give you warning of your own dire peril!”

  “You actually saw it happen?” asked David.

  “As Allah is my witness, it is so. Concerned as I was for Nawal, I was unable to sleep that night; and when I discovered his bed empty, I sought him out, knowing I would find him pacing above the cliffs. It was an old habit of his, a thing he did often when restless or troubled in spirit. And so it was, for beneath the newly risen moon I saw him clearly against the night sky. But when I drew near, my heart stood still in my breast to see a huge shape suddenly loom up out of the darkness—rising out of the very ground itself!—seizing Nawal as a grown man might snatch up a small animal of no significance. Stunned, I could neither move nor cry out, only stare in horror as the Dark One effortlessly hoisted him into the air and cast him to his death. It was over in an instant, and in my terror and anguish I fell to my knees, making no sound to give my presence away. Understand, I loved my brother above all men and am no coward—but it was no mortal being that claimed Nawal’s life! This I believe with all my heart!”

  Yousef now abruptly rose, conveying the message it was time for them to leave. “I only pray you heed my words,” he said in parting. “Take your friends and return from whence you came. Forget whatever it was those poor men found—for I tell you it is cursed far beyond your imagining. In their footsteps is only death.”

  * * *

  “Now what the deuce are we to make of all that?” said Gobeir as they followed the boy back into town. It was already well past sunset, the lad a dozen paces ahead, clearly more intent on leading them safely to their hotel than listening in on their conversation. “Even if what the old fellow says is only partially true, then I guess there’s no question that Lionel really was murdered a few days later in Alexandria.”

  “Partially true?”

  “Well, you know, all that business about an evil spirit—or whatever he called it—rising out of the ground and tossing Nawal off a cliff.” He shook his head slightly. “To give him his due, however, I don’t doubt he really did see Nawal killed that night; but as to who actually did it, obviously his judgment was shaped by his own superstitious beliefs. Small wonder he kept quiet about it all these years. He probably figured his silence on the whole matter was his only security.”

  “Yet you must admit, it certainly is an intriguing story.”

  “True enough, but I still have to wonder how much credence we can put in it. I mean, the man clearly has a vivid imagination. Even if this valley does exist, how do we know that’s where Lionel and Nawal really went? Nawal never actually told Yousef outright, now did he? The old fellow just assumed it was their destination. He even admitted as much.”

  David smiled to himself, knowing full well Gobeir was every bit as excited by all this as he was, merely playing devil’s advocate and forcing them to examine every possible angle. And he was quite right to do so.

  “Be that as it may, Lewis, we both know the only way we’re ever going to know is to check it out ourselves. Whether we believe him or not, it’s all we’ve got. Me, I think he’s telling us the truth.” He paused long enough for the boy to get even further ahead. “When we left Alexandria our suspicion was Lionel was chasing down a local legend somehow tied to Siwah Oasis—and that’s exactly what Yousef gave us. It’s too perfect to dismiss, particularly the business about the area being protected by ‘the greatest of old Egypt’s gods’. If that’s not a reference to Amun, then what the hell is? The only part still puzzling me is the killings, themselves. Everything we have says Lionel and Nawal tackled this alone from start to finish, right? We’ve already ruled out Cameron. So who else could’ve known what they were up to and followed them here?”

  Gobeir thought on this; then speculated, “Perhaps we’re looking at this backwards, old boy. Isn’t it just as possible the killer was already here in Matruh? Or even the valley itself? Maybe he knew what was hidden in there all along. When Lionel and Nawal show up, he figures there’s only one sure way to silence them.”

  “Maybe so.”

  In front of them, young Nawal abruptly stopped and pointed up the street at the hotel entrance. Before they could thank him, he turned and ran back into the night, his task accomplished.

  As they entered the hotel lobby a middle-aged clerk glanced up from his newspaper and caught David’s attention. “My apologies for this afternoon’s difficulties, Mr. Manning,” he said, “but if you wish to try again, I believe you can now put your call through to Cairo. The problem with the lines appears to have cleared.”

  “Good,” he said, then glanced at his wristwatch, thinking at this hour Bayoumi would already be at home, not the museum. Nevertheless, he knew he really should call him.

  “You go on ahead,” said Gobeir. He pointed into the coffee shop. Behind the glass partition Elizabeth and Rashidi were seated at one of the five small tables. As yet, neither had spotted them. “I’ll start filling them in before we come up. We’re going to have to decide what’s to be done about all this.”

  * * *

  Yousef Mehra was fully resigned to his fate. Now alone in the stillness of his modest house, he sat on the edge of his narrow cot and gazed at the single paraffin lamp flickering on the low table before him. The ominous quiet around him was as the silence of death—which he knew it to be. Believing himself doomed, he made no effort to secure his doors, for he recognized the utter futility of doing so. The Dark One had spared him once. It was unimaginable he would do so again.

  He felt empty, much as he felt that terrible night so many years before. But for all his growing trepidation, he didn’t regret the disclosure made to these people. They had to be warned; if his life was now forfeit, then so be it. He was ready. His life had been long and full—and unlike before, he no longer bore the burden of a young wife and unborn child to protect. The wrath of the Dark One would fall on him alone, for no member of his family ever knew the secret of Nawal’s death. Thus his son and beloved grandson must surely be spared. Aloud, he whispered into the darkness, “Gladly will I confess all my transgressions, if only to ensure this be so. My fate I meet willingly if I can but bargain for the protection and safety of—” The words died in his mouth. He dropped his hand from his brow, instinctively aware that he was no longer alone. No sound alerted him. No movement. But he knew!

  A stern voice filled the room.

  “And what will you confess to me?”

  The voice was hard, mocking, and the old man lifted his head, dreading what he must behold. A dark mass, its shadow huge against the white plaster wall, faced him across the table. Standing just outside the lamp’s tiny circle of light, the figure stared down at him through flat, slate-colored eyes, chilling him to the very bone. They were those of a predatory animal; cold, deadly, somehow outside humanity. He swallowed, averting his face from this frightening visage. “I—I knew you would come . . .”

  “Then make your confession now,” said Heikal. “Tell me everything.”

  * * *

  Omar Bayoumi’s obvious agitation registered over the phone, his hurried speech difficult to follow. Too, the connection wasn’t all that good. The phone service in Egypt was notoriously poor. There was a rap on the door and Elizabeth stuck her head inside, Gobeir and Rashidi right behind.

  He waved them in.

  “Say again, O
mar? Slow down, I didn’t catch all that. Haleem brought a what to your office?”

  “A newspaper clipping from yesterday’s daily,” repeated Bayoumi. “He said to pass it on the minute I saw or heard from you. He also left a message. I’m to tell you that—his words, mind you—‘the crazy devil survived’. It apparently has something to do with the killing out in Matariyah.”

  “Killing? What killing?”

  “That’s right, you probably never heard. It was in all the locals here, but you would’ve already left for Alexandria. It was a rather gruesome affair from what I hear. A Coptic nun was murdered the night before last at one of the Ghali clinics out by—”

  “A Ghali clinic?” David rose unsteadily to his feet, numbed by what was unfolding. “The article, does it give the woman’s name?”

  “Yes, it’s—now give me a second and—ah, here it is. Her name was Leila Mahfouz. The poor woman was brutally tortured with a knife. David, I don’t know what’s going on here, but if you have any knowledge about who—?”

  David was no longer listened. Alarm bells were going off in his head. Tortured to death? The big bastard did more than just survive the explosion! Then it hit him. Oh, Christ—Mehra!

  He put the phone back to his ear. “Omar, I can’t explain right now, but I’m putting Lewis on the line. Tell him everything you just told me.”

  Thrusting the phone into Gobeir’s unprepared hands, he dashed for the door, ignoring their bewildered expressions as he ran out into the hall. By the time Elizabeth found her voice, he was already descending the stairs, taking them two steps at time.

  “What is it?” she shouted after him. “Where are you going?”

  There wasn’t time to answer. Only one concern dominated his mind as he raced out into the street. Well over an hour had elapsed since they left Yousef alone.

  God, it might already be too late!

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  David quickly discovered how the unlit back streets and alleys of Matruh acquired a frustrating sameness about them once the sun was down. He should’ve paid closer attention, he now realized, to the boy’s various shortcuts. It was full daylight back then. Now everything looked entirely different, the night either distorting or obliterating the vague landmarks he remembered.

  The alleyways were a virtual maze.

  Twice he became confused, forced to gamble on direction. His first choice proved correct, the second leading him down a blind end with no recourse but to backtrack. Angry with himself for loosing precious seconds, he raced down yet another that seemed more promising.

  On emerging, he felt a quick surge of relief.

  He knew where he was! Across the open ground were familiar pinpoint reflections dancing off the sea; not far ahead the tall, black copse of trees he and Gobeir had passed beneath on their way back. Just beyond would be the dirt road leading out of town.

  He ran as fast as he dared, lengthening his stride even though his lungs were beginning to ache from the exertion. Scarcely five minutes had elapseed, yet he already felt like he’d been running for an hour. It was the damn cigarettes! He should’ve given them up years ago! Ahead on his right he could just make out the wide grove of olive trees flanking one side of Mehra’s home. The old man’s narrow driveway must be just around—

  There! That’s it!

  David slowed, allowing his pulse a chance to settle as he approached the darkened house. He covered the final ten yards at a walk, increasingly more conscious of his surroundings—and hoping this was all for naught. Everything appeared peaceful enough. If the old man was in any danger, the evidence sure as hell wasn’t apparent. The curtained windows were drawn and dark, the stillness so peaceful he began feeling like an unwelcome intruder.

  Yet he’d come too far to simply back away.

  He must be certain . . .

  Taking deep breaths, he felt his way around the mud brick wall of the back courtyard, his senses alert for any strange noise or sudden movement. The wooden gate of the arched entrance still remained open—though by itself, this told him nothing. Perhaps Yousef never closed it at night. Inside, everything appeared as before. He edged into the courtyard, scanning the dark shrubbery at the base of the walls and probing the deep shadow beneath the single eucalyptus. Nothing seemed out of place, the silence total.

  Maybe too quiet?

  Adding further to his unease, the face of the moon now chose this moment to break through the wispy night clouds. It bathed the courtyard with an eerie clarity—and disclosed something he might’ve otherwise missed. The door leading into Mehra’s house was ajar by several inches! Leaving the gate open was plausible. But the door?

  He advanced with caution, now more aware than ever he was completely unarmed. Raising his hand, he put pressure on the door, letting it swing inward. Beyond was a murky, black void.

  His eyes were slow to adjust as he stepped inside. Finally, some recognizable forms began to slowly take shape. Two straight-backed chairs, a couch of some sort with a low table beside it . . . And something else! He froze as the faint scent of smoke and hot wax reached his nostrils. Sometime in just the past few minutes a lamp or candle had been extinguished!

  By yousef—or another?

  Too late, his eyes snapped towards the wall, for the answer now hurled at him from across the room, driving him hard against the frame of the door. The air burst from his lungs, and he felt as if the entire house had fallen in on him. Struggling to regain his breath, he couldn’t dodge the massive arm that slammed into his side and literally hurled him back outside.

  He landed heavily on his shoulder, yet managed to roll out of the way as a huge figure charged past heading for the back end of the courtyard. Still gasping for air, he sat up, catching a quick glimpse of his assailant dashing through the arched entrance. Silhouetted against the backdrop of the night sky, the man appeared a full head taller and twice as broad—and unless something was done quickly, he was going to get away!

  David heaved himself to his feet and made for the section of wall abutting the house. Leaping, he caught hold of the top, hoisting himself up. As he did so, a brick came loose in his hand, giving him the weapon he needed. Below him, the man was running towards the gravel drive, already past the point where he could be intercepted head-on. His only recourse was to dive at the receding figure and hope for the best.

  The big man grunted in surprise as David piled into his back, pitching them both forward onto the ground. They rolled through the dark, David feeling the enormous strength of his opponent as they wrestled for the upper hand. Finding himself no match at such close quarters, he tried pulling back as they both scrambled to their feet, only to have his legs kicked out from under him. Worse yet, he fell back into the unyielding base of the wall, the impact dislodging the brick from his hand. The man gave him no chance to retrieve it, lunging for his throat and lifting him effortlessly up against the rough wall.

  David clutched the thick wrists, straining every muscle to break the grip—but the fingers around his neck only tightened, squeezing off his windpipe. The man’s strength was awesome, his relentless fingers closing like bands of steel. Desperate to break this lethal hold, he drove his fist as hard as he could into the man’s ribs. Incredibly, it had no effect. He struck again, realizing he might just as well be pummeling the trunk of a tree! The man absorbed all he had without so much as flinching, seeming more machine than human.

  The sound of a racing engine jerked the man’s head around, his course features now visible in the sweeping glare of headlights arcing across the olive grove. A car had turned off at the road and was now racing up the narrow drive. A few seconds more and it would be at the front of the house.

  The distraction gave David a last opportunity.

  Gathering what remained of his flagging strength, he forced his hands up between the massive arms and stabbed his thumbs at his opponent’s eyes. It forced the head back, giving him the leverage and angle he sought. Kicking out, he drove his knee as hard as he could into the man’
s groin.

  A visible flash of rage shot through the brute’s eyes. Releasing his grip, he lurched backwards, allowing David to slide to the ground. By rights, the man should be doubled up in agony; instead he appeared more surprised than hurt. Almost reluctantly, he turned away from the advancing car and plunged into the grove of trees.

  Too weakened to follow, David struggled back up on his feet as the car skidded to a stop. Elizabeth leaped out of the passenger door and ran to him before Rashidi could even shut off the engine. Gobeir was right behind her as she threw herself into his arms. “Are you alright?” she cried. “God, I was so frightened for you! We got lost trying to find this—this—”

  “It’s okay,” he whispered, though still panting. “Really.”

  “We saw him in the headlights and—”

  “I know,” he soothed, holding her tightly. “He won’t be back.”

  Gobeir’s face was equally anxious. “From what we saw, you were definitely getting the worst of it. I’m just damn glad we got here when we did.” He wiped at his furrowed brow with his fingers. “Why the bloody hell didn’t you wait for us?”

  “I didn’t think there was time. And I’m afraid I was right.”

  Rashidi returned from the edge of the grove. “There’s no sign of him, Professor. Probably long gone by now. Was it the same man from the monastery?”

  David nodded.

  “I must’ve surprised him when I—” He stopped, remembering, then took Elizabeth’s shoulders and passed her over to Gobeir. “Ahmed and I have to go back inside, Lewis. Put her in the car and keep the doors locked until we come out.”

  She started to protest, but Gobeir held her tight. “Let’s do as he says, my dear. They won’t be long.”