The doctor spoke for the first time. “Where Petrie failed, we succeeded. We’re triangulating the location of the tomb. Everything is in place; all assets are on the ground. Work is proceeding.”
“Proceeding very quickly,” Stone added. “We are under some significant time pressure.”
Logan shifted in his chair. He was still trying to fully grasp the enormity of the find. “You’ve learned of the real tomb’s existence. You know where it is. You’ve started excavation. So why do you need me?”
“I’d rather you find that out for yourself, on site. It would serve no purpose for me to prejudice you or color your judgment. Let’s just say there are complications that fall under your area of expertise.”
“In other words, something strange, perhaps inexplicable, and probably frightening is taking place at the dig site. Such as a curse.”
“Isn’t there always a curse?” Stone asked quietly.
This was greeted by a silence.
After a moment, Stone continued. “These complications need to be analyzed, understood, and dealt with. Ethan here can give you some more background on your way to the site.”
“And where, exactly, is this site?”
“That, my dear doctor, just may be the strangest element in a very strange story. But enough background.” Stone stood up and again shook Logan’s hand. His grasp was cool and slight. “It’s been a pleasure to meet you. Ethan will take over from here. He has every confidence in your unique talents-and, having met you, I do as well.”
This was an unmistakable sign that the meeting was over. Logan nodded, turned to go.
“And Dr. Logan?”
Logan turned back.
“Work quickly. Quickly.”
6
The plane climbed steeply out from Cairo Airport, banking immediately toward the Nile. They flew south, following the lazy turnings of the river. Logan stared out the window, down toward the lazy, chocolate-colored surface. They were flying at only a few thousand feet, and he could make out dhows and riverboats cutting through the water, leaving wakes through red patches of lotus petals. Along the shore, and stretching inward beside a tracery of canals, were thin green ranks of banana and pomegranate plantations.
Rush excused himself and went forward to talk with the crew. This was fine with Logan: he wanted a little time to digest what he had just heard.
He found himself deeply impressed with the thin, almost frail-looking Porter Stone. First impressions were rarely so misleading. The passion and determination it must have taken to follow this fragile trail of evidence to its conclusion were awe-inspiring.
Just as impressive was the discovery itself: the true tomb of Egypt’s first pharaoh, the god-king Narmer, and its mysterious contents-this was perhaps the holy grail of Egyptology.
Gradually, the greenery along the riverbanks drew thinner, the lush palms and grasses giving way to papyrus sedge. Rush wandered back from the cabin. “Okay,” he said with a smile. “I promised myself I wouldn’t ask. But I just can’t resist. Just how the hell do you do it?”
“Do what?” Logan replied coyly.
“You know. What it is you do. Just how, for example, did you exorcise the legendary ‘ghost’ that haunted Exeter University for six hundred years? And how-”
Logan raised a hand to forestall further questions. He had known this would come up eventually-it always did. “Well,” he considered, “I’d have to swear you to secrecy, of course.”
“Of course.”
“You understand you can’t tell a soul.”
Rush nodded eagerly.
“Very well.” Logan glanced around conspiratorially, then leaned forward as if to impart a secret. “Two words,” he whispered. “Clean living.”
For a moment, Rush looked at him blankly. Then he chuckled and shook his head. “Serves me right for asking.”
“In all seriousness, it’s not usually about garlic clusters or vials of pixie dust. It just requires a rather extensive knowledge of certain subjects-some of them obvious, like history and comparative theology, some not so obvious, like astrology and the, ah, secret arts. Also, a willingness to keep an open mind. You’ve heard of Occam’s razor?”
Rush nodded.
“ ‘ Entia non sunt multiplicanda praeter necessitatem. ’ The simplest explanation is most often the correct one. Well, in my line of work, I take the opposite approach. The correct explanation is often the least expected, the most unusual one-at least for people like us: modern, Western educated, out of sync with nature, and impatient with past practices and beliefs.” He paused. “Take the Exeter ghost you mentioned. With sufficient research into ancient town records, and by asking the locals about old legends, I learned enough about a certain community- sanctioned murder of a supposed witch, circa 1400, to give me what I required. After that, and after securing the location of the witch’s grave site, it was just a matter of bringing certain rituals-and certain chemicals-to bear.”
“You mean…” Rush looked nonplussed. “You mean there actually was a ghost?”
“Naturally. What did you expect?”
This was greeted by silence. After a minute or two, Logan shifted. “But let’s get back to the topic at hand. Stone’s story is remarkable, but it raises as many questions as it answers-and not just about what’s in the tomb. For example, how did he discover its actual location? I mean, that ostracon is a fascinating artifact-but it’s not exactly a road map.”
For a moment, Rush’s thoughts seemed to go far away. Then he shook himself back to the present. “I don’t know all the details myself. Tremendous financial and organizational resources were brought to bear-discreetly, of course. I do know that he started by studying Petrie’s movements. Once he’d deciphered the ostracon, how would the old Egyptologist have known where to look? He wouldn’t have rushed off to Egypt in such a hurry without having a pretty good idea. So Stone began putting the known facts together. And he began his search around the Temple of Horus at Hierakonpolis.”
“Where?”
“The capital of upper Egypt. King Narmer’s home before he invaded the lush lands to the north and unified the country. That’s where the Narmer Palette was discovered around the turn of the twentieth century. And Petrie had been known to journey as far south as Hierakonpolis in his early expeditions.”
“Narmer’s capital city,” Logan said. “Home of the Narmer Palette-and, I assume, that ostracon as well. And a focus of Petrie’s explorations, to boot. So that’s the location of Narmer’s tomb-Hierakonpolis?”
Rush shook his head. “But it was the location of the document that led to the true site.”
Logan thought for a minute. “That’s right,” he said. “It couldn’t be Hierakonpolis. Because you said the site was nothing as straightforward as Egypt.” He glanced sidelong at the doctor. “What exactly did you mean by that?”
Rush chuckled. “I was wondering when you’d ask. We’ll talk all about it on the boat.”
“The boat?”
As Rush nodded, Logan felt the aircraft begin a gentle descent. Looking out the window again, he noticed the Nile had widened into Lake Nasser. In another fifteen minutes they had landed at an unnamed airstrip just past the lake: a single pitted runway, surrounded by featureless desert. They deplaned and climbed into a waiting jeep. The driver put Logan’s bags and a large, unlabeled metal case from the plane’s belly into the back, then got in and drove them west, toward the river. The sun was a pitiless white ball, baking the parched ground with midafternoon light. Within minutes they reached the river itself. Scattered ibis flew low over the water. Somewhere in the distance a hippopotamus bellowed. The jeep pulled up to a long wooden pier that seemed as deserted as the airstrip. Rush got out and led the way down to the strangest vessel Logan had ever seen.
