The Eternal Chamber

by Tom Hunter

  Shafira bit her lip, holding her breath as the man came closer and closer, tensing herself to leap out at him.

  He whistled tunelessly as he scooped up a bag that had been lying on the floor near the body. Was he going to use it to suffocate her?

  Shafira put her other arm in front of her eyes to shield them as she readied herself to fire the spray…

  …when, instead of reaching out into the bushes for her, the man bent over the body, a streetlight reflecting from his sweaty forehead for a second, dragging his victim back into the middle of the clearing as if he were light as a feather.

  “Well, Haisam, it’s been fun knowing you, but all good things must come to an end,” he muttered to the body of the director. “Although I must say that I am a little disappointed. I’d have thought that you’d put up a little more of a fight, if only for your lovely wife and delightful children. I know that Mr. Nam-Gi promised you that we’d take care of them, but my idea of care is a little different to his. I hate leaving loose ends, so you have my word that I’ll make sure that everything is neat and tidy before we move on to our next assignment.”

  Shafira watched in horror as the man crammed her boss’ body into the bag, not showing any sign of respect while he treated it like a piece of trash. Her stomach lurched as she heard the snap of a limb.

  “All right, Haisam. Let’s get this over with.” The corpse finally concealed in the bag, the director’s murderer lifted up the body, easily tossing it over his shoulder as if it were full of wastepaper instead of the remains of a human being. Whistling the same unidentifiable tune, he turned and strode off in the opposite direction to Shafira’s hiding place.

  When he was out of sight, she turned and threw up everything she’d eaten that day, her stomach still retching long after it was empty.

  “Pull yourself together, Saffy,” she moaned, her legs feeling like jelly as the adrenaline wore off. “It’s not too late to help his family.”

  Hauling herself to her feet, Shafira headed back to the entrance to the park. She fought every instinct to run screaming for help, instead doing her best to walk along nonchalantly, as if she hadn’t just witnessed a murder. She had no idea where the killer had taken the body and there was still a chance that he might see her and realize that he had another loose end to take care of.

  “Oh God, oh God, oh God, oh God,” she chanted over and over under her breath, her mind churning as she attempted to process what she’d just seen and wondered what to do for the best. This was a sick nightmare there was no waking from.

  As she approached the park entrance, relief flooded through her body as she saw a police officer walking past.

  “Thank goodness. Officer! Officer!” Shafira ran towards the policeman, shouting and waving to get his attention.

  “Yes?” The policeman turned to her, his bored gaze taking in her disheveled appearance, sneering at the state of her clothes.

  “You have to come quickly. There’s been a murder!” Shafira gasped. “Back there. A man was beaten to death.”

  The policeman’s demeanor changed in an instant, going from disinterest to high alert. “What exactly happened?”

  “In the bushes, just up that path. I saw a man kicking and punching my boss. He killed him.”

  Shafira burst into tears, the trauma of what she’d been through finally catching up with her.

  The policeman, pulled out his walkie-talkie. “Back up requested at the west entrance to the Al-Azhar Park. Possible homicide reported, repeat, possible homicide reported.” He turned to Shafira, placing a hand on her shoulder reassuringly. “Don’t worry. We’ll get to the bottom of this.”

  Shafira sniffed and nodded.

  “Do you have any ID?” the officer requested. “We’ll need to take a formal statement from you.”

  “Of course.” Shafira rummaged in her bag, taking out a business card to give to the policeman. “I work at the Ministry with the man who was killed. But don’t you think you should go after the murderer? He could still be in the park. He was heading in that direction.”

  “Stay here,” ordered the policeman. “More officers will be here momentarily and they’ll need to talk to you.”

  He hurried off in the direction Shafira had indicated, leaving her on her own. Standing in the illuminating beam of a streetlight, Shafira shivered, despite the heat. She’d never felt so exposed. There was only one policeman and he’d left her here. There was no knowing when his backup would arrive and what would happen if the killer came back this way after hearing her shout? He might guess that Shafira was the one who’d called the cops on him.

  Shafira shook her head, turning to hurry home. Much as she wanted to do her civic duty, it was too risky. She’d given the policeman her details. They could contact her after they had the killer behind bars.

  Once she was safe in her house, Shafira headed to the kitchen, putting on the kettle. Going to the cupboard, she pulled out a box of chamomile tea to try and help her get to sleep.

  “Screw it,” she muttered, putting the tea back and going to where she kept her secret stash of alcohol saved for special occasions. Grabbing a bottle of whisky that had barely been touched, she headed off to bed to drink herself into oblivion.

  Eighteen

  Waleed frowned, his tongue protruding from a corner of his mouth as he wriggled around like a fish out of water, desperately trying to free himself from his bonds. Let the American sit here and wait for the Bruard to come and slaughter them all if he wanted. Waleed had every intention of being on the other side of Egypt when that happened.

  “A-ha!” he crowed as, with a final tug, he felt the ropes around his wrists loosen and start to slip away. However, his celebration was short lived, as someone started to open the tent flap. Grabbing at the rope before it tumbled to the ground, Waleed did his best to wrap it back around his wrists in a vague simulacrum of the knots that had held him. It was unlikely to fool anyone who looked closely, but he prayed to Allah that whoever his guard was, they wouldn’t bother checking.

  Waleed suppressed a gasp when he saw who was coming to watch over him.

  “Well, well, well,” said a familiar voice. “Why am I unsurprised to find you here?”

  “Nafty, my brother,” greeted Waleed, trying to keep his tone light. “You couldn’t do me a favor and let me out of here, could you? I have somewhere important I need to be.”

  “I don’t think so,” tutted Nafty. “You and I need to have a little talk about how you came to be in this… predicament. I hear that you have uncovered a spy in our midst, a spy for the Bruard, no less. The irony is delicious, don’t you think? After all, you’ve always been the first to volunteer for extra duties. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you take any opportunity to stand around listening to those more important than you discuss the issues facing the dig. Are you sure that the spy isn’t, in fact, you?”

  “What can I say?” shrugged Waleed. “I relish the chance to learn from those wiser than I. It does not make me a spy.”

  “No,” conceded Nafty. “But the fact that you’ve been observed snooping around where you do not belong would certainly suggest such a thing. Nevertheless, let us assume that I am willing to give you the benefit of the doubt. Why would a man like you, a man so desperate to be of assistance whenever he can, suddenly turn on those he has been so intent on helping? What could possibly have happened that would make you turn your back on your colleagues and hurl accusations of Bruard involvement?”

  “There is no grand mystery,” Waleed told him. “I simply grew bored of being on a dig site when I was never given the chance to prove my worth. I could have helped recover artifacts, served as McCarthy’s right hand man, yet no matter how hard I tried, I was relegated to a mere skivvy, a slave to the Americans. Any man would tire of such treatment given enough time. I thought I could earn good money here. I was wrong. I am not so foolish as to not recognize the right moment to cut my losses and leave.”

  “And yet that moment coincides with the dis
covery of a double agent,” pointed out Nafty. “Wonderfully convenient, is it not?”

  “Allah moves in mysterious ways,” Waleed proclaimed.

  “Not so mysterious when men are involved,” Nafty pointed out. “We are, at our heart, much simpler creatures. Although I have to say, Waleed, that I am surprised by the path you chose to take. Why try to rob the American? Surely there would be more money to be made confronting the spy and blackmailing him?”

  “I would never dream of going against the Bruard,” Waleed assured him. “I always intended to steal from the American before I left. After all, that’s what his people have done to us, coming to our country, stealing our ancient treasures with no regard for our heritage. A few thousand dollars is nothing to a man like him and no less than we deserve.”

  “So why tell him about the spy?” Nafty asked. “If you have so little regard for the American’s wellbeing, why not keep quiet and let him suffer when the Bruard arrive–assuming that they are, in fact, coming at all.”

  “I just want to get out of here,” pleaded Waleed. “If telling him a story about a spy on the camp wins me my freedom, then I will tell him about ten spies, a hundred, even! Please, my friend. Can you not turn your back and let me leave? If it would help, I’d be more than happy to make it look as though I overpowered you, much as it would pain me to hurt you.”

  Nafty gazed at him, mulling over his options. “You’re just an idiot who thought he could steal and run,” he announced at last. “I owe you nothing. You will stay here and face the consequences of your actions.” He patted his jacket, suggesting that Waleed wasn’t the only one who’d brought a gun to camp. “Behave yourself and this evening will go by just fine. But trust me. I will lose no sleep if you decide to test me. I suggest you try to get some rest. You’ll be out of here soon enough.”

  “Very well,” Waleed said, hanging his head in resignation. “I’ll give you no trouble.”

  “Good.” Nafty turned and left the tent to take up his position outside the entrance.

  As soon as he was gone, Waleed dropped the ropes, padding silently across the tent and pressing his ear at the tent flap. The sound of a cough told him that Nafty was indeed standing guard right outside, so he couldn’t simply walk out.

  Waleed moved round the tent, tugging at the canvas where it met the ground, but it was too securely fastened for him to be able to squeeze out without risking attracting attention. Nafty might have been bluffing when he implied that he had a weapon on him, but he didn’t strike Waleed as someone who would hesitate before taking a shot. There was a certain steel to him that the American lacked. Where McCarthy was all talk, Nafty was a man of fewer words and more action.

  Resigning himself to a long, uncomfortable night, Waleed returned to his chair. Picking up the rope, he did his best to redo the knots with his mouth. He couldn’t think of a plausible story that would explain to Samuel or Basile how he’d managed to get loose and he wasn’t going to give Nafty any excuse to hurt him. It would be terribly convenient for the American if Waleed were to suffer an ‘accident.’

  Nineteen

  Samuel walked into his tent, a towel wrapped around his waist, having just showered. Picking up the shirt that was lying over the back of a chair, he sniffed at it, tossing it towards the ever-growing pile of dirty laundry on top of one of the side tables before rummaging around in the pile of clothes by his bed to find something clean enough to wear.

  There was a fumbling at his tent flap just as Samuel finished buttoning up his pants. Looking over, he smiled when he saw Basile walk in.

  “Good timing!” he remarked. “A moment earlier and you would have seen me in my tighty-whities.”

  “Don’t make jokes at me, not today,” growled Basile. “I’m never in a good humor when I’m woken up to do your job.”

  “What have I done now?” asked Samuel. “Or rather, what haven’t I done?”

  “The radio tech has been trying to contact you for the past hour,” Basile raged. “Why haven’t you responded?”

  “I didn’t hear anything,” shrugged Samuel.

  Basile crossed over to where the radio sat on a small table. Gingerly removing some underwear from it and tossing them to one side with a grimace, he flicked the switch turn the set on.

  “Of course you’re not going to hear it if you’ve turned it off,” he snapped.

  “I shut it off every night,” Samuel explained. “The crackling disturbs me, so I shut it off so I can get some sleep. There didn’t seem to be much point in switching it on while I had a shower. It’s not as though I can hear anything with water in my ears.” He grinned to take the edge off his words.

  Basile shook his head, his mood lightening a little. “No one but you can get away with this kind of behavior,” he told him. “You’re lucky it wasn’t an emergency.”

  “If it were, my good friend Basile would have come to find me,” Samuel pointed out. Basile groaned and shook his head, but the two of them both knew it was true. “Do you know what the Ministry wanted?”

  “They’ve reviewed your reports on the cave and not only have they granted approval to extend the excavation, they’re sending one of their own to observe the exploration.”

  “Yay.” Samuel put his thumbs up halfheartedly.

  “What’s wrong?” Basile asked. “The Ministry is going to fund further investigation. Surely that’s a good thing?”

  “Not when it comes with strings attached,” Samuel told him. “In my experience, when they send someone to ‘observe’ what they really mean is interfere.”

  “Does it happen often, then?”

  “I’ve had observers attached to a few of my digs over the years,” Samuel replied. “It happens more often than you’d think, although it’s always for reasons outside the scope of the dig.”

  “You mean-?”

  “Yes.” Samuel nodded grimly. “If the Ministry is that keen to supervise what we’re doing first-hand, then either they saw something in the recordings I missed or they share our concerns about smugglers or Bruard agents.”

  “I fear you’re right,” Basile agreed. “But what can we do? It’s the Ministry. They’re paying for this dig after all. What they say goes. Speaking of which, their official should arrive within the next day or two, so perhaps you should take this opportunity to clean up your tent. We don’t want the Ministry to take one look at this mess and immediately rescind their funding.”

  “It’ll never happen,” Samuel reassured him. “I’m too good at what I do. But if it will make you happy, I’ll tidy a little, just for you.”

  “Really? Promise?” Basile looked dubious.

  “Have I ever broken a promise to you?”

  “Well, there was that time when…”

  Samuel held up a hand to interrupt him. “All right, all right. No need to go into details. I take your point. I really will clear up a bit. Changing the subject, has anyone had a chance to check on Waleed?”

  “According to Nafty, he was a model prisoner all night. He’s asked for some breakfast to be taken to him.”

  “Then why don’t you take some food to our guest?” suggested Samuel. “Maybe he’ll tell you something he wouldn’t say to Nafty or me. After all, you are the good cop to my bad.”

  “Like what?”

  “I’ve been thinking more about the story he told us,” said Samuel. “After a night tied to a chair, maybe he’ll have changed his mind about whether the Bruard are coming. Or maybe he’ll have remembered some more details about the alleged spy that will help us identify him. Either way, I wouldn’t mind getting your opinion on the veracity of his claims. I trust your judgment.”

  “All right,” nodded Basile. “I’ll sound him out.”

  “Just don’t discuss what he says with anyone other than me or Nafty, okay?” Samuel instructed. “We don’t want to start a panic. I still haven’t ruled out the possibility he’s lying to us.”

  “Bien sur,” Basile agreed. “What will you be doing while I’m exchang
ing pleasantries with Waleed? Are you sure you wouldn’t rather interrogate him yourself?”

  Samuel shook his head. “I want to review the scrolls that were found with the map. It’s possible that they may have a clue I missed about what could be waiting for us in the cave. I want to be as prepared as possible before the Ministry official arrives and starts asking a million questions.”

  “Good idea.” Basile headed out to put together some food for Waleed, while Samuel flicked the switch to get the coffee maker started. The way this expedition was shaping up, he was going to need a lot of caffeine to get through the next few weeks.

  Twenty

  By the time Shafira pushed through the rotating door to enter the Ministry building, she was a nervous wreck. It didn’t help that her head was pounding with the mother of all headaches. Using whisky as a sleep aid had not been the best idea she’d ever had and had done nothing to chase away Haisam’s death playing in an endless loop in her mind. She’d practically run to work, seeing Haisam’s murderer lurking in every shadow. Even now, in the safety of the Ministry, she was gazing around, looking to see if the killer had somehow followed her here and was waiting for a chance to leap out at her.

  She’d feel better if the police had spoken to her last night, perhaps offered some form of protection, but since the officer she’d spoken to had run into the park in search of Haisam’s killer, she hadn’t heard a thing, not even to ask her to make a statement. Surely they should treat a murder more seriously than they seemed to be? There should have been a cordon placed around the park immediately, a crime scene investigation team brought in to go over the area with a fine-toothed comb, but when Shafira had gazed in the direction of the park as she went through the intersection, she couldn’t make out any sign of police activity. The park looked like it did on any other ordinary day.