The Ka

by Mary Deal

  “Yeah,” Clifford said. “Share in the dirty work.”

  “Now, now,” Dr. Withers said. “We'll be as pleasant to them as possible. They are, after all, the ones who helped make our Institute and this expedition possible.”

  “Which ones?” Aaron asked.

  “Vice President and Director, Parker Philips.”

  Kendra groaned. “Not Carmelita too,” she said, rolling her eyes. “This should prove interesting. And?”

  “Vice President and Director of Academic Planning, Burton Forbes, with his wife, Gracie,” Dr. Withers said. “This visit does add to our problems, however.” He looked tired. “More people in addition to all the rest. We're being inundated, slowed down by tour groups and especially by other archaeologists, of all people.”

  The team and crews had to work around areas cordoned off for various groups. Most were respected people in the field of archaeology and everyone needed to keep that foremost in mind.

  “So how many more important people are we going to allow to slow us down?” Bebe asked.

  “We're obligated to a few,” Dr. Withers said. He waved a pencil in the air. “The Board of Directors have asked us to hold off on removal of any more relics until Forbes and Philips arrive.”

  “Everything's out so far,” Kendra said.

  “Exactly,” Dr. Withers said. “They want to be here when we crack the Burial Chamber. Also, somebody remind me to get Paki Rashad back from Cairo for the big event.”

  “Do the directors know we're having difficulty finding access?” Aaron asked.

  “All they know is that we've emptied out all the relics so far and our time is taken up with cataloging, packing and….” He waved off the rest of the sentence. He paused and then added, “Let me get to the real reason I called this meeting. Your dear husband, Kendra,” he said without smiling, “has located an evidently wealthy conglomerate from Cairo who have offered themselves as benefactors for the balance of the dig.”

  Before anyone could comment, Clifford said, “That could be worse than working with those danged slow college students.” He shook his head sharply. “So what's in it for them?”

  “Now, don't jump the gun,” Dr. Withers said, studying the notes again. “Your friends, the Yago family?” he asked, again looking to Kendra.

  “Who?”

  “The Yagos. Know them?”

  “Can't say I do.”

  “Well, your industrious husband has turned up this group of philanthropists willing to fund the balance of our dig. For a price.”

  Clifford grunted. “What philanthropists?”

  “I don't know the Yagos,” Kendra said. “What have you learned about them? Why are they stepping in now?”

  “According to Royce, the Yagos are from Spain, but many of their international team are from various other countries. Portugal, Africa—.”

  “Gypsies!” Clifford said. “I know of no such group.”

  “Wait, let me finish,” Dr. Withers said. “This group procures Egyptian artifacts which are added to the relatively small amount of relics they've already acquired.”

  “What for?” Bebe asked.

  “Evidently the Yagos, and people of similar affluence from other countries, have united to procure artifacts in order to enhance their respective country's stature in the art world.”

  “Again,” Clifford said. “What's in it for the Yagos?”

  “Well, let's just back up a little,” Dr. Withers said, motioning for Clifford's patience. “Our deal with Egypt is that we receive custody of one half of all treasures of the tomb, if we open the entire tomb. Once they've been exhibited in our neck of the woods….” He stuck a finger into the air. “And once we've recouped our expenses, maybe made a little profit, we rotate with the other half of the artifacts that Egypt holds from this dig.”

  “Egypt owns them all,” Aaron said, recapitulating Dr. Withers's point.

  “Here, here,” Clifford said.

  Aaron leaned forward. “And we've yet to find the Burial Chamber.”

  “Exactly,” Dr. Withers said. “Without the Burial Chamber's holdings, we stand to receive zilch for our efforts.”

  “Nothing at all?”

  “What amounts to nothing,” Dr. Withers said. “A few small statues, if we're lucky.”

  This was added pressure on top of the urgency to identify the mummy entombed, because the woman's life and a Pharaoh's seemed most assuredly intertwined. The prediction was that the find would make history and Chione felt no one but the CIA had the right to claim it. “What you're saying,” she asked, “is that if our funds run out, someone else will acquire the dig and benefit in our place?”

  “Reap all the goodies, yes.”

  “So we almost have to work a deal with the Yagos?” Aaron asked.

  Clifford grunted again. “I don't like it,” he said. “How much does this do-gooder philanthropic group hope to gain for their generosity?”

  The wind began to howl mournfully. The tent canvas billowed and snapped.

  Chione nudged Aaron's foot under the table and motioned in Kendra's direction with her eyes. Kendra had withdrawn from the conversation and begun pouting.

  “That's what I'm trying to describe,” Dr. Withers said. “Let's take this slowly. I've only just heard this myself. My intention is to keep all of you apprised of our options. We'll discuss it again in a week or so if things don't turn around.”

  “Okay, let's hear it,” Bebe said.

  Dr. Withers reiterated the facts. Their intention from the beginning was to crack that rock and retrieve the artifacts to be deposited with the Madu Museum where Clifford was to remain. After they departed for California, the Restoration Society folks would do the housekeeping in the tomb. A few short weeks in duration. What they had not counted on was the delay at finding the Burial Chamber.

  “You mean we hadn't planned to be here ten years like Howard Carter?” Clifford asked, an unexpected effort at being facetious.

  “Carter would have been fortunate indeed to have the technology we have at our disposal,” Aaron said.

  Kendra chimed in. “I'll bet old Carter's rolling over in his….” Suddenly she gasped and covered her mouth. Her timing was off.

  “What kind of margin do we have?” Bebe asked.

  “Ten weeks more if we stretch it and no dollars beyond.”

  Before anyone left California, Chione received psychic messages of the team staying longer. In fact she had not seen the team winding down to completion but, instead, having greater amounts of work ahead. Kendra once commented that had they located the Burial Chamber as easily as the other rooms, they could have been home for Christmas. Chione knew that was not the way things would be. “So what's the bottom line with this Yago family?” she asked.

  “They'll fund us as long as we need to stay.”

  Clifford grabbed the edge of the table and stiffened. “For that we forfeit what?”

  “One half of our share of the take.”

  “One half?” Clifford asked. He stood and took a turn pacing and thinking. “That's one quarter of all the wealth, providing the Egyptian government and the Madu people are in agreement and still allow us our fifty percent.” He continued to pace. “What artifacts that group gets custody of the world will never see again. Mark my word!”

  “Why wouldn't they allow us our fifty per cent?” Bebe asked.

  “With new players, it's a whole new ball game,” Aaron said.

  “Essentially, yes,” Dr. Withers said. “We'd have to re-negotiate our contract.”

  “And stand to lose our position for half of everything?” Bebe asked.

  “Yes,” Dr. Withers said. He did not look like he thought much of the idea at all. With the Yagos providing major funding, they could inherit rights over the CIA. Then, if they were inclined to share less than one quarter, the CIA would end up with practically nothing. Or lose everything if the team could not find the Burial Chamber without help.

  “Then the Yago team could replace us a hu
ndred percent and, for sure, we go home empty handed.” Dr. Withers said.

  “No!” Clifford said.

  Dr. Withers was to meet with the CIA's Board of Directors via a conference call if the telephone connections would fortunately hold. He said he'd have to run over to Luxor for better connections. If they thought no other alternatives existed, he would try to work with the Yago family. Only then would he reveal their plight to the Egyptian government and try to arrange a few favors, hopefully some that did not include the Yagos.

  “We could still lose,” Clifford said, shaking his head in defiance. “There must be something I can do through my contacts.”

  25

  Chione sensed Clifford's mind working. Humor he had, but when it came right down to the crunch, if anyone could pull something off, Clifford would be the one.

  “We've got to find that Burial Chamber in quick order,” Bebe said.

  Everyone looked to Chione. She frowned, tensed.

  Aaron leaned over and peered out the fly. “Randy should have been in on this,” he said.

  “Damn him,” Dr. Withers said. Then he sighed heavily. “Sorry folks. Guess my nerves are on edge. Where is that—?”

  “Wow, sorry I'm late,” Randy said, rushing into the tent. “Those kids. You just don't know how much time they—”

  “Not now, Randy,” Dr. Withers said. “We've got more serious issues at hand.”

  “Anything I should know?”

  Quick glances among the rest of the group silently voiced disgust.

  “Not really,” Clifford said.

  “What about some of those other offers?” Aaron asked. “The ones that came by fax from bigger universities? Couldn't we—”

  “All we need is for word to get out that we're facing financial crisis,” Clifford said, sighing out of frustration. “The money people would gobble us up. We'd be powerless.”

  “Our original grantors can't cough up a little more?” Bebe asked.

  The wind worsened. The tent continued to billow and snap. Workers assigned to maintain the grounds scrambled. One of the yurts had partially come loose in a gust. Most certainly now, everyone would give up on trying to control the layers of dust that coated everything from the day the first wind blew. Use of any laptops would have to be done in the tech shack.

  “I don't want to ask them yet,” Dr. Withers said. “Now that we've collected valuable artifacts, the CIA might be able to secure a bank loan.”

  If they knew for sure which artifacts would be assigned to the CIA, they might be used as collateral.

  “A bank loan might be too costly,” Clifford said. “Considering the artifacts will eventually be returned to Egypt.”

  “How costly?” Bebe asked.

  “Well, let's just say we got a sizeable loan,” Dr. Withers said. He paused momentarily, shaking an index finger in the air. “Our little privately held institute struggles every year to collect enough donations, grants, and work-study tuition to keep our doors open. With a sizeable bank loan, we'd have to make monthly payments and maybe a huge balloon payment in a year or so. What funds would normally be spent on maintaining our facility would then be diverted to repay the loan. I don't need to explain what that means.”

  Chione studied Dr. Withers as he spoke, heard a ring of desperation each time he mentioned bringing someone into the endeavor. Had the others noticed? Did they understand how important this last expedition was for him, that it would solidify his private institute in the community, the country, and maybe the world?

  “The Institute would suffer temporarily,” Aaron said. “We'd have our exhibits to attract viewers from the paying public.”

  “We'd acquire grants for the maintenance of our exhibits,” Clifford said. “We could even take the show on the road.”

  “Too expensive,” Aaron said. “Unless exhibitors would be willing to pay to bring the show to their cities and states.”

  “Do you hear yourselves?” Dr. Withers asked. “All these things are possible, but they're all speculation about how we might be able to receive future monies to repay a loan we don't want in the first place.”

  “It saves having the Yagos take over,” Kendra said through clenched teeth.

  “If we can't open the Burial Chamber till the directors arrive,” Aaron said, “I suggest you and I, Dr. Withers, work on cost analysis and projection for a bank loan. Maybe we could get Royce's expertise in on this.”

  “Not Royce,” Kendra said adamantly. “If Royce brought the Yagos in on this, you can bet there's something in it for him too. I doubt he'd make your cost analysis come out in your favor.” Kendra could not have gotten everyone's attention more had she spread a layer of ice over everyone, yet she continued to stare at the tabletop.

  Finally, Aaron reached across the table and touched her arm. “Maybe we can discuss a deal with the Yagos and still come out on top,” he said. “Then we can run it by the Board of Directors.” He turned to Dr. Withers. “After all, you and they have final say.”

  They needed to take care not to lose their position. If they sought loans or public grants—now that their discovery by paranormal means had been vindicated—they could be throwing the whole ball of preservative wax up for grabs.

  “An awful lot of people want a piece of us now,” Aaron said, looking smug. “They even want Chione on their team.”

  “Fat chance,” she said.

  “It's like this,” Dr. Withers said. “We're not out of money yet. Granted, we are cutting our budget awfully close. We've had unforeseen events occur which had not been planned for in our cost projections.”

  “Medical bills and trips to Cairo,” Clifford said, glancing toward Randy. Then he winced and said, “Trips for a funeral.”

  Dr. Withers waved a hand silencing Clifford. “No one blames anyone for unexpected events. No one should feel responsible. Truth is,” he said. “We're not down to the quick. You all need to know where we stand. It's important we cover our bases so we're the ones who finish this expedition.”

  “I say we analyze some of those other offers you say you got,” Randy said.

  Clifford moaned.

  “That's already been addressed,” Bebe said angrily. “Maybe you should have been on time.”

  “Randy,” Aaron said slowly. “Everyone offering financial aid wants a piece of the action in return. A huge piece.”

  “I haven't seen the offers,” Randy said, shrugging.

  “So trust our leader,” Clifford said. “If he's singled out the best of the lot, we back him.”

  Dr. Withers had seemed more than frustrated over the last few days. Though he tried to sound positive, the Yago's offer did not do much to elevate his morale. Randy could not say anything more and stared from behind a peevish grin. Kendra again folded her arms across her chest and continued to stare at the tabletop.

  After Dr. Withers and Aaron left and Randy scooted out to be with the children, Clifford said, “Randy doesn't seem like one of us anymore.”

  “Did he ever?” Bebe asked. “A few days ago, I heard Dr. Withers tell him to get his act together and not to open his mouth unless he could contribute something.”

  “Still, every time he parts his lips,” Aaron said. “In goes a boot.”

  A couple of hours after lunch, the others went back to work. Chione and Clifford were left at the table with Kendra who picked at her meal. Suddenly, she asked, “What's all the hush-hush talk about, Clifford? Chione?”

  “Just reminiscing,” Clifford said quickly.

  Kendra smiled weakly from across the table. “We're all here for you, Clifford,” she said. She choked back tears. “I hope you're all here for me.” Then she began to sob.

  “Kendra?” Chione asked, scooting over to her. “What's going on?”

  “I've got to leave,” Clifford said. “Everything and everything's gone rotten.” He picked up his water and hurried out, snapping the tent flap behind himself.

  “Did you see her, Chione?” Kendra asked.

  “Who?�
��

  “That woman and those guys she came with.” Kendra dabbed at her eyes.

  “Who are you talking about?”

  “She's beautiful,” Kendra said. “Every time I see Royce, he's with her and her entourage.” Kendra pulled her to stand beside the flap and they discreetly peered out. “Look, there she is. She just parades back and forth like she's waiting for him.”

  A dark haired woman impeccably groomed, and wearing designer khaki clothing much too clean for the desert, stood out at the front of the crowd. She kept an umbrella trained between her and the sun no matter which direction she paced. She constantly twirled the thing as if relieving impatience. When she turned in their direction, her smooth milky white complexion and dark hair made her stand out even more.

  “You're imagining things,” Chione said. “She's just another curious pedestrian.”

  “No, she's not. Why would she stay?”

  “Because all these people never see enough. They hang around waiting for a glimpse of one last artifact, one more relic of the Ancients. It's a fever.”

  “Why would Royce be spending so much time with her?” She began to cry again.

  “You're imagining things.”

  “Because she's beautiful,” Kendra said, sighing heavily.

  “You're great looking too, Kendra,” Chione said, trying to offer comfort. “And you just happen to be his wife. His slightly jealous wife, however.”

  “Now I know where he's been going when he goes off on his own,” she said. “He does it all the time. How is it she turned up just when he came back from Cairo?”

  Kendra had worked herself up, probably imagining things. But Royce did have frequent absences from camp. “Kendra, leave it alone,” Chione said.

  “Why doesn't he spend time elsewhere?” she asked. She sighed again. Her lips pouted. “Why is he so attentive to her?”

  “Where would you have him go? Back home alone till you finish work here? Or to stay in Cairo?”

  In a short while, Dr. Withers called yet another meeting, a sign that said things may be fraying at the seams. With work almost at a standstill, being called together in the cook tent was getting to be routine. As he waited for the group to settle down, he sat with an elbow on the table, fingertips rubbing his forehead, studying notes, composing his thoughts. Finally, he said, “We're going to suspend activities this afternoon. The mummies are out of here, so there's no worry about decay. We can post additional guards at Inventory. We've got to find that Burial Chamber.”