Buried Secrets

by Kristi Belcamino

  Dallas’s theory was that if Cleopatra believed she was the living embodiment of the goddess Isis and Marc Antony was Osiris incarnate—after all the couple often had dressed up as the two gods—then burial at Taposiris Magna would be appropriate as a sacred resting place in the afterlife.

  Dallas’s research had shown, in fact, that Cleopatra had dressed up as Isis for her first meeting with Antony. Cleopatra must have given orders that her body and Antony’s be privately smuggled to Taposiris Magna. Dallas suspected that the queen had feared the Romans would destroy her body—thus preventing her from using it in the afterlife—to punish her for committing suicide. It made sense to Dallas that her burial location would have to be secret.

  Dallas was betting everything on this.

  She glanced at her watch. Midnight. Which meant it was around 4 p.m. in Minneapolis. Colton was probably still at the university. She reached for her phone and punched in the familiar cell number. It went straight to voice mail.

  “Colton? Dallas. I think I’m on to something. I’m in Cairo. I’m still in town because tomorrow I’m going to try to get in to see the minister of antiquities, but then I’m heading to Alexandria after that. I’ll try to call when I can. My cell service is spotty as you might imagine. But you can always leave a message.” She took a deep breath. “But I’m calling because I discovered something exciting today. I wanted to share it with you …” she trailed off, feeling stupid suddenly. She cleared her throat. “Well, anyway. I’m sorry for putting you in a bind by coming here, but I hope you understand. I’ll call when I can.”

  There. She’d apologized for running off. What more could she do?

  Six

  The next morning in her tiny room with pink walls at the Happy Hotel, Dallas was awakened by a commotion outside her door. People were speaking loudly and angrily and then to her astonishment; her door flew open. Two men in gray suits stood there beside the angry and red-faced clerk from the hotel’s front desk.

  Dallas scrambled to sit up and pulled her covers to her chest.

  “What the hell is going on? Get out of here! Who are you?”

  Her eyes darted around the room looking for a weapon, even though she knew these people were somehow here in an official capacity.

  “We are from the Ministry of Manpower and Immigration. Please come with us.”

  “I’m not going anywhere. I’m not a migrant. I’m not immigrating. I’m an American citizen. I have rights,” Dallas sputtered. “I’m not even dressed.”

  Just then a man in a dark suit stepped forward. “I’m with the American embassy. The hotel manager just called me.”

  “Thank God,” Dallas said.

  “Unfortunately, you do need to come down to immigration, but only so we can sort this out.”

  Dallas’s momentarily relief at seeing the embassy worker evaporated. Instead, she was filled with irritation.

  “Seriously?”

  The man in the suit nodded.

  Dallas rolled her eyes. “Can you at least wait in the hall while I get dressed?”

  The immigration officials eyed the windows.

  “I’m not going to jump out five floors so you don’t have to worry about that.”

  The four men backed out, with the hotel worker still muttering angrily under his breath before the door closed.

  Dallas’s heart was pounding. “Toto, I've a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore,” she said to the empty room. Her words echoed. Suddenly, she was homesick, scared, and lonely. She missed Sam and Colton so bad her stomach hurt.

  The immigration offices were only a block away. Inside the lobby there was some argument between the embassy man and the immigration officials.

  “Just great,” Dallas said in a low voice. The guy who was supposed to be there to help her was apparently a fill-in job. From what she could make out he was some lackey who had answered the phone and really had no power.

  “I’m filling in until my boss gets into work today.”

  “You’re kidding, right?” Dallas said. She took the guy in a bit more now that she wasn’t cowering in bed hiding. He looked seventeen. He had a small rash from shaving that morning and his suit was ill-fitting.

  “What do you do there exactly?”

  A blush spread up the man’s neck. “I’m an intern.”

  Suddenly Dallas felt bad for him and a little bit like a heel for scoffing at him. “Thank you so much for coming when you got the call,” she said. “I was scared to death and having someone there from the U.S. embassy really helped. I truly appreciate it.”

  The young man straightened up a little and nodded. “I wish I could do more, but I think you have to go in and talk to them. They promise it won’t take long.”

  Dallas nodded. She turned to the immigration officials, “Can we get this over with?”

  Inside a small room, a beefy man with beady eyes and a bad comb over grilled her like she was a CIA agent.

  “Why are you here? You are an archeologist? We have grave robbers who proclaim to be archeologist? Do you have a permit from your government or educational institution? How do we know you aren’t trying to illegally enter the country and live here?”

  She answered all the questions and stifled a yawn. She needed coffee and to get the hell out of there as soon as possible. She glanced at her phone to see the time. Crap. It was on low power mode and showed a charge of one percent. She was going to be late to meet her interpreter if they didn’t release her soon.

  After a while, the man left for a few seconds.

  When he returned, he handed her a cup of coffee.

  “Thank god,” Dallas said and gulped some down.

  He sat watching her and then said, “The school has no authorization on file for your trip here.”

  “Yeah,” Dallas said. “About that … Let me call Colton—he’s my department head. He knows I’m here.” She reached for her phone. Now the battery was completely dead. Terrific. She was trapped in a room with a guy who might put her in prison next for god knows what. Stranger things had happened to American tourists. “My phone is dead. But if you loan me a phone or a charger … it’s a—”

  He cut her off. “I’m afraid that’s not possible.”

  Dallas blinked. What? “If I give you his number will you call him?”

  “You could give us any phone number, anyone who is trained to say what you want them to say.”

  Boy, these guys were like the freaking KGB. Was she dreaming? Maybe she never really woke up? Was she suddenly thrust into a James Bond movie or something?

  Trying to infuse her voice with as much patience as she could muster, Dallas said, “Okay. How’s this? Call the main number and ask to be transferred to Colton McCloud in the archeology department. Is that good enough for you?”

  The man’s chin jutted down. “Yes. I will be back when we reach him.”

  He left and Dallas put her head down on the desk. Please, please, please be in the office today, Colton.

  Four hours later, beefy guy came back in. At this point, Dallas had dozed off. She jumped up, startled.

  “You can go now.”

  He didn’t need to tell her twice. She practically raced out of the room and to the front door. As she swept through the lobby, she dimly noted that the Good Samaritan Intern was nowhere to be found. Whatev.

  As soon as she got back to her room she plugged her cell phone into the charger on her nightstand and dialed Colton.

  “Oh my God, Colton. Did you get a call? I mean, holy hell, this is so not cool. Thank you for getting the approval for me to be here.”

  Colton didn’t answer.

  “Colton? You there.”

  “Oh, yeah,” he sounded distracted. “Sorry it took so long.”

  “I’m just happy to be out of there. Hey, how did you get the school to approve my sabbatical, anyway?”

  “Hey, listen, Dallas. I’m flying over to supervise your work. I’m looking at flights right now. Unfortunately, I won’t be able to be there until Satu
rday.

  “What?” Dallas practically screamed the word. “You’re coming! Oh my god! This is the best news ever.” Cool it, Dallas. “I mean I really could use the help.”

  “Will you still be in town? Your message said you were leaving for Alexandria.”

  “I was. But this—this—changes everything. Do you want me to wait for you and we can go to Alexandria together?”

  She would wait. Even if it meant changing her train ticket, her hotel room, and extending the time she’d hired the translator. Colton. Was. Coming.

  “I don’t think you need to wait, might as well get started since I have limited time. I have to get back in time for classes, but thanks,” Colton said. “I’m looking at landing and immediately catching the train so I’d be in Alexandria by Saturday night.”

  She laughed with delight.

  “What?” His voice sounded playful.

  “Just that it will be great to see you.”

  It was quiet on his end for a second and then he said, “Same.”

  “It’s great here,” Dallas said. “But can you believe I’m in Cairo and within a stone’s throw of the pyramids and yet have not seen them other than from twenty thousand feet up.”

  “What? You haven’t seen them? You’re not going to see them?” Colton sounded astonished.

  “Yeah. Well, at least not right away. I’m anxious to get to Alexandria. What about you? Do you want to delay meeting me for a day so you can see them?” She held her breath hoping he would say no. She wanted to see him asap.

  “I’ll catch them on the way back. Before I fly back.”

  “That’s what I was thinking,” Dallas said.

  “Hey!” Colton said, “If it all works out, we can visit them together and coordinate our flights back home.”

  Dallas closed her eyes for a second. A mixture of conflicting feelings soared through her. She couldn’t help but feel a small thrill that Colton was so excited to see the pyramids with her, but also a large heap of guilt. Because going back wasn’t part of her plan. Not if she could help it.

  She didn’t want to take the wind out of his sails so she tried to muster enthusiasm in her voice when she said, “That would be awesome.”

  She wasn’t lying. Not really. Seeing the pyramids with Colton would be awesome. But she planned to stay in Egypt. After all, she had an earth-shattering discovery to make—finding Cleopatra’s tomb.

  “Can’t wait to see you, Dallas,” he said.

  Dallas tried to hide her smile even though Colton couldn’t see it over the phone line. But she knew her excitement was in her voice. Colton was coming to Egypt to help!

  “I better go and get ready to visit the minister. I’ll call you as soon as I’m done,” Dallas said. “Oh by the way, you should pack some of that sugar crap you like to eat because you aren’t going to find any donuts here.”

  He laughed. Dallas hung up and went to grab her bag, only to remember it had been stolen the night before. She’d forgotten to tell Colton about that in all the excitement.

  She rushed out. She had to meet with the interpreter she’d hired. She was nearly late after being detained for hours.

  Seven

  Abet was small and wiry and had a huge grin. He had a full head of gray streaked hair and weathered face. He looked like somebody’s kind grandfather who had worked on a farm most of his life. He stood from the café table where he was seated and thrust out his hand. “Dallas Jones?”

  “Abet Mahmoud?”

  They laughed and shook hands.

  “Coffee?”

  “Oh god, yes,” Dallas said and slunk into the chair opposite his. She’d hired him online through a company recommended by an archeological organization.

  After a few minutes of sipping coffee and Dallas explaining why she was in Egypt, she glanced at her phone.

  “First stop I need your help with is the minister of antiquities office. I’m trying to get a permit to visit the temples.”

  The interpreter raised his eyebrow.

  “You’re meeting with Zawa Harif?”

  “Yep,” Dallas said, standing. “Shall we? I know his office closes soon.”

  They headed to the elaborate building that housed the antiquities office and several other government bodies. The building had the air of a Persian castle minus turrets and a large wrought iron gate surrounded the grounds.

  Dallas’s heart was racing when she stepped up to the large wooden desk in the lobby.

  “I’m here to see Zawa Harif,” she said.

  The woman smiled but shook her head. “I’m sorry but his schedule is full. The next appointment is three weeks out.”

  Dallas’s eyes widened. The government officials had told her she could stay two weeks. Frantically, she racked her brains for some way she could get in earlier, but before she could answer, a man in a gray suit carrying a briefcase walked in.

  To her surprise, Abet and the man greeted each other warmly with hugs and began speaking in Arabic. Dallas stood nearby feeling awkward. The secretary tapped on her computer keyboard now ignoring them all.

  After a few minutes, the man grinned and with a nod to the secretary disappeared behind the door behind the secretary.

  Dallas shot Abet a startled look. “Was that him? Zawa Harif?” She was horrified to realize the man had been standing there the whole time and she was daydreaming when she could have been lobbying him herself. And what was up with Abet to not introduce them?”

  Abet turned to her.

  Dallas raised an eyebrow.

  “That man. He is a childhood friend of mine. He is visiting the minister. He said he can ensure we get in today. As a favor for an old friend.”

  “Today?” Dallas felt a surge of excitement.

  Abet nodded.

  “I just want to kiss you!”

  “Please.” The blush spread across his cheeks.

  “Sorry. I mean that in the friendliest friend way you know.”

  “Yes, I realize.”

  Within ten minutes they were seated before Zawa Harif.

  After shaking his hand and sitting down, Dallas began to hyperventilate. Get it together girl! She told herself. This is a chance of a lifetime.

  Taking a deep breath, she began.

  The minister had a full head of gray hair and giant bushy black eyebrows arched over his kind eyes. He wore a bright pink sweater over a white button-up shirt. Dallas took this as a sign that he wasn’t afraid to be a little different. It was a good omen because her theory went against conventional thought on where Cleopatra’s tomb lay. She needed someone who wasn’t afraid to buck the norm. And he seemed to listen attentively as she outlined her theory. She reached into her backpack and withdrew maps of all the Isis and Osiris temples within proximity of Alexandria and showed how Taposiris Magna, only 50 kilometers west of Alexandria was the best bet.

  He raised an eyebrow so she continued, spluttering the words.

  “Then, last night, at the museum, I found further proof,” she said and then showed him her notes translating the hieroglyphics on the stele.

  “It sounds like a valid theory,” he said, tilting his head and nodding.

  She sat back and sighed with relief.

  Then he leaned forward on his desk, lacing his fingers together.

  “But.”

  She froze at that one word.

  “You are with all due respect, a rookie, as they say in American baseball.”

  “Yes,” she interrupted. “But I’m the only one who put all these pieces together.”

  “This is true. But you are competing with thousands of applications each year to excavate in my country.”

  Dallas closed her eyes. Of course, she was. She had been so dumb. Of course, it wasn’t going to be easy.

  Harif continued. “Out of those thousands, we only approve at the most 150 applications a year for the extended excavating license. Those who are approved usually have solid sources of funding, backing from major museums and established research universiti
es around the world, decades of experience, experienced teams …”

  She tuned his voice out. It was over. Tears formed in the corners of her eyes and she angrily brushed them away. They made her look weak. Juvenile. She needed to compete with the big boys if she were going to get her way.

  Abet poked her in the side and she came back to the present. “I’m sorry?”

  “What I said,” Zawa Harif said smiling, “Is that the best I can do is grant you a temporary permit to visit the site. It is only good for two weeks and does not allow any excavation, but will allow you to be present on the site and possibly come up with some more evidence to help me convince others as to why you should be granted a permit.”

  Dallas opened her mouth to argue, to protest that she needed to dig and survey if she were going to get anything out of the visit, but she clamped her lips together and nodded.

  Looking at Abet’s beaming face, she quickly realized that this was a big as a victory as she could have expected.

  Zawa Harif leaned over his desk writing and then with a flourish, handed her a document. It looked like messy scribbles to Dallas, but he said, “Keep that in a safe place. Produce it to authorities in Alexandria and at the temple and you should have no problem.”

  She nodded and then remembered her manners. “Thank you.”

  After she stood and had her hand on the door, she turned to look back.

  He was already absorbed in a document before him, his eyebrows furrowed. “Sir?”

  He looked up.

  “I’m coming back,” Dallas said. “Just so you know—I’m going to find something that will convince you to give me that excavation permit.”

  He nodded solemnly and then looked back down, but Dallas thought she caught a hint of a smile.

  Outside, after she said goodbye to Abet with plans to meet later, Dallas slumped on a bench and put her head in her hands.

  A memory of her mother and father came back to her.

  It had been a day when Dallas’s father had been in town and deciced it was time to teach her to ride a bike. She was growing frustrated. “I’m hungry. I don’t want to do this anymore,” she said, kicking the bike’s tire in a fit.