structure placed about two feet from the next. A pulley system of some kind ran down the left flank, apparently for bringing heavier items down to or up from the tomb. A series of lozenge-shaped LEDs was arrayed down the upper edge of the tube in an unbroken line, bathing the Umbilicus in cool light. Heavy foot- and handholds were set down its length. Below him, he could see the others, descending hand under hand toward what they had termed the Lock.
Taking another deep breath, he took hold of the railing, swung himself over, made sure his footing was secure, then began to descend.
“Stone here,” the voice crackled over his radio. “I’ve reached the outer air lock platform.”
Logan descended, careful to keep his breathing regular. The Umbilicus was spotless: there was no trace of mud along its inner walls. The air that came through his respirator had only the faintest scent of rotting vegetation. And yet he found himself unable to forget, even for a moment, the vile ooze that pressed in on them from all sides of the tube.
The descent itself was easy enough. He’d assumed that the Station would be anchored directly over the tomb and that they would need to climb straight down, ladder-style. But Porter Stone, always thinking ahead, had positioned the Station at a sufficient distance to give the Umbilicus a forty-five-degree angle from vertical, allowing for relatively easy journeys up and down. As Logan descended, he noticed that the pieces of wooden bracing became thicker, no doubt compensating for the increased pressure from outside.
Within three minutes he had joined the group on the air lock platform. He looked around curiously. The platform was actually formed out of the base of the Umbilicus: a metal catwalk, roughly ten feet on each side. Beneath it, four thick metal supports pierced the yellow material of the tube and disappeared below, presumably anchored to the bed of the Sudd. The spots where the supports exited the base of the tube were composed of metal sleeves, their edges thickly sealed with latex, rubber, and narrow bands of steel.
In one corner of the platform, several large evidence lockers had been carefully stacked. Beside them were various archaeological tools and equipment for examining, stabilizing, and even field curation of ancient artifacts.
Three of the walls of the platform resembled the rest of the Umbilicus: hexagonally braced and thickly veined with cabling. The fourth wall, however, held a heavy circular door of an opaque material, as round as a bank vault’s and seemingly as impregnable.
With all seven of them standing on the platform, there was precious little room to spare. For a moment, nobody spoke, looking instead at the others through their respirators. There was a tension in the air no one seemed eager to break. Finally, Stone pressed the Transmit button of his radio.
“Stone here,” he said. “We’re proceeding.”
“Roger that,” came the voice from the control station above.
Then-with Tina Romero videotaping-Stone moved toward the heavy door. “I’m opening the Lock,” he said. He carefully unscrewed four large bolts in the circular panel, one at each point of the compass. Then, taking hold of a thick handle at its center, he pulled the door free of its enclosing hatch.
It swung open on silent hinges. Just beyond, Logan could see the face of dressed granite that sealed the entrance to Narmer’s tomb. The boulders and mud that had helped keep it from the elements had been completely removed, leaving nothing but the courses of granite and the surrounding igneous matrix that formed the mouth of the volcanic cavity. The polished granite wall gleamed in the reflected light of the Umbilicus. Aside from the two seals, the rock contained no markings whatsoever. What had seemed so far away in the video feeds of the divers, so remote and unearthly, now stood directly before him, mere feet away.
Logan was aware that his heart was beating faster now, almost painfully so. The air lock itself had been fixed to the irregular surface of igneous rock by thick rubber gaskets, made airtight by some kind of compound and held in place by the same kind of metal rods that anchored the outer platform to the bottom of the Sudd.
Now Stone and Fenwick March came forward, each carrying magnifying glasses and powerful flashlights. As the others watched, the two examined every inch of the granite surface, probing and pressing gently with gloved hands. The process took almost fifteen minutes. Satisfied at last, they stepped back out onto the platform.
“Tina?” Stone said over the radio. “Would you examine the seals, please?”
Tina took the magnifying glass and flashlight from March and stepped forward. Peering closely, she examined first the upper necropolis seal, then-getting down on her knees-the royal seal at the base of the granite courses. Each was fixed in place by two bronze pikes, one at either end, with thin bronze wires wound between them in curls that reminded Logan of a hangman’s noose. On the right-hand end of each seal was a fist-sized piece of reddish pottery, encasing both the wire and the spike. Into this had been set the actual hieroglyphic impressions.
“Well?” Stone asked.
“They’re completely intact,” she said. Logan could hear a faint tremor in her voice. “But this serekh-there’s something unusual about it. It’s of a form unknown to me.”
“But it’s definitely Narmer’s seal?”
“The hieroglyphs are that of the catfish and the chisel-the rebus for Narmer’s name.”
“Very good. Get ready, please.”
Romero rose to her feet. As she ran the video camera, both March and Stone again stepped up beside her. Stone held a small evidence box, its bottom lined with cotton; March held a scalpel and forceps. While the rest waited in anxious silence, March very cautiously brought the scalpel up against the necropolis seal. With a slow, methodical motion, he brought the scalpel down across the seal, cutting it in two. Then, with equally cautious movements, he used the scalpel and the forceps to tease the seal away from the granite and place the pieces into Stone’s box.
Logan realized he was holding his breath. Quite consciously he expelled it, took in fresh air. Despite the high tension of the moment, he could not help but be impressed by the care Stone and his team were taking not only to record the entire event but to carefully conserve the elements of the tomb. Stone was no treasure hunter: he was a careful archaeologist, bent on preserving the past rather than destroying it.
Now the three had moved to the larger, royal seal. March placed his scalpel at the top of the seal. Then he paused. A minute went by, then two.
The tension in the Lock became almost palpable. This was it: once the royal seal was broken, the tomb would be in a state of desecration. Logan swallowed. Any man who dares enter my tomb will meet an end certain and swift. I, Narmer the Everliving, will torment him and his, by day and by night, waking and sleeping, until madness and death become his eternal temple.
“Fenwick?” Stone’s mild voice sounded over the radio.
The archaeologist started. Then he bent closer over the seal, and-with a slow, slicing movement-drew the scalpel down through it, cutting it in two.
There was a general exhalation of breath from the assembled group that needed no radio to be heard. “Now we’ve done it,” Tina said very quietly.
March took the two pieces of the seal and placed them into Stone’s box. Then Stone, March, and Romero all stepped away from the granite wall. Every move seemed so carefully choreographed it was almost like a ballet.
Stone turned to Dr. Rush. “Go ahead, Doctor.”
Reaching into his backpack, Rush removed a battery-powered drill and a thick bit about twelve inches long. Fixing the bit to the chuck, the doctor approached the granite face, chose a spot directly in the center, placed the bit against the stone, and fired up the drill.
Stone urged the others to keep back as the drill whined. After about sixty seconds, Logan heard the pitch of the drill abruptly drop; Rush was through. There was a low, faint whistling sound as air escaped through the drill hole.
The doctor pressed a plastic plug into the hole he’d made, then put the drill to one side. “The granite’s not particularly thick,” he said over the radio. “Perhaps four inches.” Reaching into his backpack again, he withdrew a strange-looking instrument: a long clear tube, fixed to a plastic housing containing an LED readout. A rubber bladder hung from one side of the housing. Removing the plug from the hole he’d made, Rush threaded the clear tube through the borehole, then pushed a button on the housing. There was a whirring sound as the bladder inflated. Rush pressed additional buttons, then examined the LED display.
“Dust,” he said over the radio. “Particulate matter. High levels of CO 2. But no pathogenic bacteria.”
Logan now understood the purpose of the device. It was the high-tech equivalent of Howard Carter holding a
