The Eternal Chamber

by Tom Hunter

  Samuel and Basile exchanged nervous glances. “Go on,” Samuel said, folding his arms in an attempt to hide his concern.

  Heartened by having permission to speak, Waleed repeated the conversation he’d overheard. “He talked about a cloaking device, something that was way beyond ancient capabilities, and strange rituals required to enter the inner cave system. There was also something about a doorway but he didn’t know what was behind it.”

  “And who was the spy?” Samuel asked.

  “I don’t know,” Waleed admitted. “He was sitting in shadows and I couldn’t get close enough to see. He must be someone with access to your reports though. He knew too much to be a mere worker.”

  “Basile, a word?”

  Samuel took Basile to the other end of the tent, out of Waleed’s hearing. “What do you think?” he whispered.

  “Much as I hate to say it, I think he’s telling the truth,” Basile replied. “Very few people know about the cave and for him to have all that detail means that he must have got it from somewhere. It’s plausible that he overheard a spy talking about it, although it’s also possible that he rifled through your reports while he was waiting for you in your tent and then made up this spy as a cover story.”

  “I agree,” nodded Samuel. “It goes against every fiber in my being to say it, but Waleed could be right. There might be a spy in our midst. We’ll have to warn Nafty to be on high alert. Clearly someone is paying close attention to our movements. They must have seen the report I sent back to head office. I tried to keep it confidential, but it’s always possible that someone hacked into the system and downloaded the files or even went into my tent before Waleed and copied my document.

  “I’ll tell Nafty to keep anything related to the cave under lock and key. If we do have a traitor on the site, we’ll need to make sure that he doesn’t learn any more than he already knows. I can’t impress upon you enough the importance of tighter security now. I’m putting you in charge of Waleed. Go outside and keep watch for anyone acting suspicious while I question him further. If we do have a spy in the camp, I don’t want us to be overheard.”

  “Oui, biensur.”

  Basile ducked outside to stand guard while Samuel walked back to Waleed, who looked up at him with hope in his eyes.

  “You can see that I’m telling the truth, can’t you, my friend?” he said. “That information was worth a reward, yes? I know I can’t expect any money from you now and it was foolish of me to try and steal, but if you let me go, I promise I will leave straight away and never return. We can consider ourselves even…”

  “Sorry, Waleed.” Samuel shook his head. “After what you’ve done, you’re stuck where you are for the time being. I’m going to place a guard on you while I get some of the workers to build a makeshift cage for you. We have the facilities to put together something secure enough to hold you and I’m not cruel enough to keep you tied up like this indefinitely. I’ll make sure you’re as comfortable as possible while you wait for justice.”

  “But… but…. You can’t!” protested Waleed. “I’m too delicate to be behind bars! I have a letter from my doctor. It’s bad for my mental health!”

  Samuel chuckled. “There’s nothing delicate about you, desert rat. You should have thought of that before you pulled out a gun and tried to steal from me.”

  “If you lock me up in this heat I could catch the plague! Malaria! Dengue fever! Ebola!” Waleed babbled wildly. “I have medication in my bag to protect me from infection. If I don’t take it, I could die!”

  “I think you’ll survive just fine,” Samuel told him. “Slimeballs like you always do.”

  “But the Bruard! If they find me trussed up like a turkey, they’ll gut me. Please, you can’t keep me here. You are condemning me to death by your actions. When you find my body, it will be on your conscience. Can you live with that, McCarthy?”

  “I’ll cope,” Samuel shrugged. “But, I’ll tell you what. I promise you that if I find evidence, real evidence and not just your say-so, that the Bruard is involved with the dig, I will release you.” He stepped closer to the restrained man, squatting so that he could look him straight in the face. “But if you ever point a gun at me again, loaded or not, all bets are off. I’ll stake you out in the desert for the Bruard to do whatever they like to you and I won’t lose any sleep over it.”

  “Thank you, my friend. Thank you.” Waleed’s relief was palpable. “I know that a man as noble and honorable as you will keep your word when you find the evidence you seek. Can I beg a favor from you?”

  “Another one?” Samuel huffed. “Do you want anything else while I’m at it? Lobster Thermidor on a silver platter or the moon on a stick?”

  “No, no. Don’t worry. I don’t need anything expensive.” Samuel’s sarcasm appeared to have completely bypassed Waleed. “If the Bruard are coming, I need to be out of here before they arrive. Please, my friend. Promise me that the instant that you find proof that I’m telling the truth–and I know you will–you will come back and release me so I can get to safety.”

  “Why should I do that? If I find out the Bruard are active in the area, you’re going to be the last thing on my mind.”

  “You have no idea what they’re like,” warned Waleed. “Those men are brutes. I’m deathly allergic to blood. They’re likely to come in guns blazing to wipe out the camp. They don’t like leaving any survivors as witness to their wicked deeds. I wouldn’t survive a serious firefight.”

  “You had no problem pointing a gun at me,” Samuel observed.

  “An unloaded gun,” Waleed corrected. “I would never have seriously hurt you.”

  “And those twelve men that gun has killed?”

  “A mere fabrication designed to add a little spice to my story.”

  Samuel narrowed his eyes, considering everything Waleed had told him. One thing was for sure. Whatever else he might be lying about, it was clear that he was genuinely terrified of the Bruard, a fear that went beyond anything he might have read about in the media. What was his history with the organization?

  “All right. I’ll see what I can do. That’s the best I can offer,” Samuel told him before going out to confer with Basile.

  “Have you seen anyone spying on us?” he asked.

  “No one as far as I can tell,” Basile replied. “Nobody cares about what goes on in this part of the camp. What do you make of his story? The man’s a weasel. He’ll say anything to save his skin. I wouldn’t trust a word he tells you.”

  “That he is,” Samuel agreed, “but I think he’s telling the truth, at least as far as he’s capable. How else could he have found out about the cave? That’s the one thing that doesn’t add up. It’s a weird thing for him to invent as an excuse for his behavior.”

  “Someone as slippery as him will have his resources,” Basile pointed out. “But whatever’s going on, one thing’s for sure: the sooner we get him out of the camp, the better.”

  “Agreed,” nodded Samuel. “Until then, we need to find a guard we can trust. Anyone could be in league with the spy.” He thought for a moment. “What about Nafty? He isn’t essential to the dig, so right now, he’s just waiting around for instruction from the Ministry and he seemed loyal when he was out at the cave. He might like the chance to do something useful. Can you wait here while I go and fill him in?”

  “Oui, oui.” Basile nodded.

  “I’ll warn him to be careful with his things as well,” Samuel said. “Maybe Nafty can help us figure out who the spy is. He might have seen someone lurking about his tent.”

  He headed out to fetch Nafty to help out with guard duties, leaving Basile to watch over Waleed, wondering just how true his story really was.

  Sixteen

  Shafira sat by the window in her favorite café, idly stirring her coffee. Slowly, she flipped through the latest copy of Egyptology Studies, imagining that she was the archaeologist featured in one of the articles. There’d be pictures of her posing in front of a recently discovered
tomb, a big smile on her face as she held up an ancient vase.

  Anything had to be better than being stuck in an office cubicle.

  She sat up a little straighter when she saw the next headline.

  McCarthy Discovery Reveals More About Ramses II.

  McCarthy! That was the name of the archaeologist in charge of the dig that had made Director Haisam behave so peculiarly. Intrigued, she read on.

  A mile north of the pyramids of Giza, renowned Egyptology and archaeology specialist Samuel McCarthy has uncovered a temple that provides further evidence of the connection between King Ramses II and his status as a supposed sun god.

  Built in honor of the pharaoh, the temple features a wooden carving of Ramses II placed in perfect alignment for the sun to hit it twice a year, once on his birthday, October 22, and also on the date of his coronation, February 22, potentially as part of a religious ritual. Carbon dating suggests that the temple was completed in 1281 BC, some six years before his more famous temple that was previously unearthed in Aswan, meaning that the Pharaoh’s construction projects were even more extensive than existing evidence had suggested.

  Ramses II was born in 1315 BC and came to the throne as a young man in 1290 BC to become one of the more popular pharaohs. Having inherited a country that was already flourishing under his father’s reign, Ramses II had been an ardent student of the theory of war, rule, and politics, enabling him to put this theory into practice to build upon his father’s success and defeat the Hittites, who were a massive military power at the time.

  Ramses II was obsessed with leaving a permanent legacy in honor of himself and is responsible for constructing more shrines, palaces, statues and obelisks than any other previous ruler as part of his bid for immortality. As well as numerous self-aggrandizing monuments, he also oversaw the development of Pi-Ramesses, Egypt’s new capital, which would become a major city in the ancient Near East.

  McCarthy told us that the discovery of this new temple is particularly exciting because of the exceptional quality of the surviving artifacts. Containing both wooden and stone carvings, the level of detail provides more information about Ramses II’s rule, including a well-preserved mosaic that tells the story of a battle against the Hittites.

  “There is no doubt that there are countless more secrets waiting to be discovered in this temple,” said McCarthy. “As we unearth more of the site, it is likely to become one of the most significant finds in recent years, deepening our understanding of this important period in Egyptian history.”

  Shafira sighed for what felt like the thousandth time that day, slumping so that her chin rested on her hand as a twinge of jealousy ran through her. Imagine being the first person to discover a temple. A whole temple! McCarthy was American, yet he was doing more for her country’s heritage than she ever had.

  Not for the first time, Shafira wished that her father had acceded to her pleas to study archaeology instead of insisting that she take up an administrative position. Her life would be very different if she were out in the field instead of filing papers at the Ministry.

  Picking up her cup, she took a sip, blanching and wincing at the taste as she swallowed a mouthful of cold coffee.

  “That’s what happens when you stir a cup for half an hour,” laughed Omar, the waiter behind the counter, who’d been watching her. “Some things are best not savored for too long.”

  “I guess I got lost in thought,” Shafira confessed, bashfully. “Could I get a refill, please?”

  Omar poured out another cup, crossing over to replace her barely touched coffee. “You’re one of my best tippers, so call this one on the house,” he told her. “Just don’t tell the boss, okay?”

  Shafira laughed. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

  Omar craned his neck, trying to make out what she’d been reading. “So what was so interesting you ignored my beautifully made coffee?”

  “Oh. This?” Shafira turned the magazine over so he could see the cover.

  “Egyptology Studies,” he read. “Interesting. Are you a student, then?”

  “No.” Shafira shook her head. “I’m just a clerk at the Ministry of State for Antiquities. The closest I get to being on a dig is when I read the reports sent in after all the fun is over.”

  “It sounds like you’re in the wrong career,” Omar observed.

  “There’s more job security at the Ministry than out in the field,” Shafira told him. “All the archaeologists are self-employed freelancers with no guarantee that their contract will be renewed at the end of a dig. At least I have a permanent position and know how much money I’ll take home at the end of the month. My older brother, Yusuf, followed his heart and ended up partying a little too hard to be able to keep any job for too long. He’s still bouncing from one dead end job to another. I don’t want to disappoint my parents the way that he did.”

  “Don’t you think they’d be proud of you if they saw your photo in a magazine like that?” Omar nodded at the picture of McCarthy.

  “They’d probably tell me that it’s no place for a woman,” Shafira replied. “And wonder why I’d been mad enough to leave a position with such potential.” She put on a thick accent, imitating her father. “You could have your own secretary one day, Shafira, if you work hard enough.”

  “But do you want your own secretary?” Omar asked. “Sometimes when we live our life for others, we forget to live it for ourselves. Do you want to look back when you’re older and ask yourself what if? Maybe you should live a little, do what makes you happy for a change instead of ending up resenting the decisions you made for the sake of your parents. Think about it.”

  Omar turned and headed back to take up his position behind the counter as Shafira picked up her coffee, drinking it before it grew cold this time. Throwing a generous tip on the table, she swept the magazine into her bag, ready to go home.

  Shafira dawdled down the sidewalk, taking her time as she thought about what Omar had said. He had a point. She was doing what her parents expected and how happy was it making her? Whatever you could say about her brother, at least he enjoyed himself. At the same time, she knew how badly Yusuf had hurt them. It was her duty as their daughter to show that they’d brought up at least one of their children properly.

  Reaching the intersection with the turn off to her house, she paused. Turn left and she’d be home in five minutes. Turn right and she’d stroll through Al-Azhar Park and wouldn’t be back for at least another half hour. She’d bought her house precisely because it was so close to the park, yet she’d spent so much time at work, she’d rarely come here.

  Deciding that Omar was right and she needed to do what made her happy, in a tiny gesture of defiance, Shafira headed right to detour through the park. It was a beautiful evening. A little fresh air was just what she needed to clear her head after a hard day’s work.

  A balmy breeze blew across her face, a pleasant, warm caress that confirmed that she’d made the right choice in cutting through the park. She could feel all the tension from work draining away with every step. There was a path up ahead that she could take that would lead out to the back of her road, eventually bringing her home. Shafira resolved to come this way more often after work and not be in such a hurry to get to her destination that she forgot to enjoy the journey. There was something wonderfully soothing about being out here.

  THUD!

  A loud noise came from behind the bushes she was walking past, sending the birds that had been snoozing in the trees flying into the air in panic. Frowning, Shafira left the path and headed in the direction of the sound.

  As she pushed through the undergrowth, she heard more strange thumps and thuds. Trying to stay as silent as possible, she crept towards the sound, a sickening feeling of dread building in the pit of her stomach.

  Concealed in the bush, she cautiously pried apart the branches to peep through. She clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a scream as she saw a large man in the center of a small, secluded clearing, a mirthless grin o
n his face as he punched and kicked some poor soul who was lying limp on the ground.

  For a moment she stood frozen in fear, unsure of what to do for the best. Run or hide? A man that brutal wouldn’t hesitate to eliminate any witnesses.

  The thug gave his victim a final kick, causing him to roll towards her hiding place. Shafira bit down on her hand to hold back her cries as the bloody, bruised face of Director Haisam stared lifelessly up at her.

  Seventeen

  Shafira gazed helplessly at the face of the man she’d been talking to just a few short hours ago.

  Closing her eyes, she willed her body to break free of the terror that was trapping her inside herself. “Move, Saffy,” she thought “Move your frigging feet or you’re next.”

  Slowly, slowly, she began to retreat, edging backwards inch by painful inch, but, seeing the brute marching towards her, she stopped.

  “Dammit!”

  What to do? What to do? He was twice her size. She had no chance of fighting him off. Shafira didn’t kid herself that the self-defense class she’d taken at the community center would do anything against a ruthless giant.

  She reached out for her purse, her fingers fumbling as she searched for the zip. Slowly, slowly, ever so slowly, she pulled it down, the sound of the teeth unlocking sounding impossibly loud.

  After what seemed like an eternity, she’d opened the bag enough to slip her hand inside, keeping her attention firmly fixed on the killer as she rooted around for the ancient can of pepper spray her mother had given her ‘just in case.’ It had been in her purse for so long, Shafira had no idea if it would still work, but it was the only chance she had to gain some kind of an advantage in a fist fight.

  Adrenaline coursing through her body, her hand shook as she lifted up the can, finger on the button ready to spray it in the man’s face. If it could only buy her a few minutes’ head start, she might be able make it back to her street, even her house, before he caught up with her.