McGrave's Hotel (5 page)

Mohammed Bey, the leader of the Egyptians, clapped his hands twice, and the great doors at the rear of the truck swung open. “Come,” he said to James. “You are the first in America to see this.”

After the planks connecting the truck to the dock were in place, the gentlemen and James stepped inside.

There in the artificial lighting of the vehicle’s interior stood the sarcophagus of Queen Siti, the Great Royal Wife of the Pharaoh Kaphiri II, in the Nineteenth Dynasty. Detailed hieroglyphics, the once-forgotten beautiful sequences of birds and jackals and a myriad of pictographic symbols, deciphered by the Rosetta Stone studies of the early 1800s, covered every square inch with excerpts from the
Book of the Day
and the
Book of the Night
.

Four much taller men, with sun-bronzed skin and huge muscles, stood guard over the mummy of Queen Siti. Mohammed Bey introduced the largest of these royal sentinels as the leader of his guards, a giant of a fellow named Abasi. Upon Mohammed Bey’s command, Abasi and his companions removed the huge lid of the sarcophagus and extracted a human-shaped coffin. They placed this container on the floor and then removed its lid to reveal a second coffin nested within, like a nested Russian egg. This second coffin in turn was removed and opened, at which point everyone had to look away from the outpouring of reflected light. The third and final container proved to be a coffin of pure gold, brilliant to behold, meticulously designed to look like Queen Siti herself. Its glow filled the chamber of the trailer, and James thrilled to see the beauty rendered by the sculptor. The queen would have been a stunner in 1936. She had a movie-star face framed by a plaited wig of fine locks that hung to her breasts. A headband formed of a royal cobra circled her hair, and she held a floral scepter in her hand.

Housed within this priceless receptacle, James knew, rested the three-thousand-year-old mummified remains of the lady herself.

“She’s so pretty,” James said.

“They discovered her in the Valley of the Queens,” Mohammed Bey informed him. “She was known as the Beautiful One Who Sings. Her beauty inspired a cult that continued through the Third Intermediate Period.”

“I wish I could have known her then,” James said. Her presence took James back to his family summer in Egypt and to the Great Pyramid.

“Two million blocks of stone, kiddo,” his mom had said. “Each over two tons.”

Then and now, James wondered at the brilliance of the architect who had designed it, at the magnitude of the labor force that moved all those stones into place.

“Come,” said Mohammed Bey in the belly of the trailer. “Danger lurks, and we must be quick.”

The four large porters draped the golden coffin in a nondescript oilskin shroud and hoisted it to shoulder height. They would leave the outer casings behind and follow James to the queen’s suite in the hotel. Mohammed Bey and his business associates would accompany the procession.

“The entire enterprise is strictly hush-hush, a task commissioned by Egypt’s King Farouk himself,” Mohammed Bey explained to James. “The shadow of war lies heavy over Egypt,” he continued. “An invasion could come at any time. Many of our treasures, including the remains of our royal ancestors, are being moved to underground locations where bombs may not be felt. For others, we seek refuge outside the boundaries of Egypt.

“Tonight, in your hotel restaurant, we shall meet with the curator of the Brooklyn Museum. We shall discuss the option of Queen Siti spending some time there. She would like to see a little of your United States. We hope the reverse is also true, that your citizens would enjoy spending some time with her.”

In the elevator, James watched the ascent closely as the lights indicated the floor-to-floor progress. He didn’t want to have to explain paranormal building structure or green phantasms to these important visitors.

At the forty-second floor, thanking goodness to be there, James supervised their arrival. There was still a long corridor to traverse. He would take the lead with Mohammed Bey beside him. Next came the four porters with the golden coffin, the remaining gentlemen following behind.

The trek commenced with James alert to any possible interference. If he could conclude his business with the Egyptians in the next few minutes, he might return to the lobby in time to escort Victor Lesley’s first aspiring actress.

James also knew that, although foreign dignitaries occasionally rated VIP status, these Egyptians were pleasant gentlemen who constituted Mr. Nash’s “contingent of foreigners,” not the visitor he feared.
That
VIP had yet to appear.

As the assembly approached the first hallway perpendicular to their corridor, James could hear a distinct high-pitched squeal, as if a door with a rusty hinge were swaying to and fro. He raised his hand to stop the procession.

The eerie squeaking continued, coming closer, closer, closer.

James held his breath in apprehension. What was about to appear around the corner?

He sighed in relief as a housekeeping maintenance cart appeared, pushed by an old lady. The cart contained bedding, towels, wrapped toilet paper, cleaning supplies, rubber gloves, a hamper for soiled laundry, and a trash receptacle.

“Mrs. Kobler!” James said.

Mrs. Kobler was elderly for a housekeeper, and yet James knew she worked tirelessly, around the clock. She must have been in her seventies at least, he thought, or possibly her eighties, and no one would guess from looking at her that she once had a career in show business. She now had sad blue eyes, saggy skin, and a wattle at her neck. Her hair had been gray for as long as anyone at the hotel could remember, and she wore a long dress. She looked suspiciously at James’s group and the large object it carried.

“I’m showing some guests to their room,” James said. “It’s nice to see you.”

“Master James,” she said, keeping an eye on the coffin. “Nice to see you too, young man. Nice to see you. Be good.”

She resumed her voyage down the hallway, her cart’s bad wheel again squeaking out her slow advance.

The Egyptians’ suite was of the normal horizontal variety, with a ceiling no more than ten feet up and trimmed in teak crown molding. James explained that it was called the Royal Suite, especially selected for Queen Siti’s visit. Guests entered via a tiled foyer leading to a salon for entertaining. The suite also boasted a guest library of rare photographic and art volumes, a bathroom that featured twenty-four-karat gold-plated faucets and Italian marble facilities, and a large private bedchamber off the salon.

At Mohammed Bey’s nod, the porters carried their regal parcel into the bedchamber and deposited it alongside the bed, arranged so Queen Siti’s head would align with the head of the bed. A family of pillows invited rest at the same end of the bed, yet none of the queen’s retinue would be sleeping in that room this night. She appreciated her privacy.

As James had been informed by Mr. Nash, Mohammed Bey and his colleagues had separate rooms in this same wing of the hotel, though none of them planned on sleep any time soon. They had scheduled a late-night business conference with the Brooklyn Museum representatives. As Mr. Nash had explained, they wanted the queen’s whereabouts for the next several years to be settled as soon as possible.

“There is more to come,” Mohammed Bey said to James. “It was the custom of Egyptian royalty to be entombed with artifacts to make them comfortable in their journey through the underworld. Queen Siti’s tomb contained a lavish array of furniture, clothing, food, and drink. For her journey to America, we have brought a small sample to keep her from feeling homesick: her sword, her amulets, her figurine of Anubis, her ceremonial clothing, and carved alabaster perfume jars. Her attendants are bringing them as we speak.”

Two of the porters returned to the salon with a packing crate from the truck. They pried its lid off with a crowbar, to a shriek of nails, and the four then rummaged through the straw packing material. Abasi smiled as his hand emerged displaying a sword. One of the others smiled as he removed the jackal-headed statue of Anubis, the god of mummification and the afterlife, and rainbows danced when the jewelry came out. James watched as the guards arranged the queen’s possessions on the hotel bed, should she have need of any of them.

“She must have been very special,” said James. He had seen many Egyptian artifacts the summer he and his parents spent in Cairo, but he did not recall any more beautiful.

Mohammed Bey nodded. “Queen Siti sat on the throne for nineteen years,” he said, “as a wife to a pharaoh, as a mother to princes, and as a queen to an empire. She excelled at diplomacy and was fierce, alongside her husband, in smiting enemies. But it was her beauty and her unique talent that established her popularity. She had a voice to rival that of the gods. She could spread the word of the heroes of ancient Egypt in what are now called ballads.”

According to the plan, the businessmen in the red fezzes would soon convene in the restaurant to discuss security, education, finances, and a trade of exhibits between the Brooklyn Museum and the Cairo Museum. The larger men were to stay behind to guard the queen and her possessions.

“Our enemies are many and clever,” said Mohammed Bey. “Grave robbers have been the curse of Egypt for six thousand years. Some seek to disrespect our ancestors; others seek only the gold and valuables. The Fascist governments that now pose a threat are merely blips on the long timeline of history.”

He removed from his suit pocket an embossed leather wallet to offer James a gratuity for his services.

James waved off the gesture. “No, please, sir,” he said. “
She
wouldn’t like it. It’s an honor to be of help. If you need anything else, please ask for me. I’ll be here all night. I’ll be here every night.”

At this point, James was hardly worried about anyone robbing the queen and her minions. He was more worried about the questions Walter Quinn might ask. Ever since Howard Carter had discovered King Tutankhamun in 1922, mummies had been front-page news. Four men in fezzes couldn’t help but arouse Mr. Quinn’s curiosity. Keeping Queen Siti out of the newspapers was not going to be easy.

Here Comes the Bride

“This is so exciting,” the girl said in the elevator. “I’ve never even seen a Broadway play. I played Juliet in
Romeo and Juliet
when I was still in high school. That was by William Shakespeare. I was in
Hay Fever
the next year, at the community college. That was by Noel Coward. Whew. How high does this elevator go?”

Her name was Dixie Ann Fields. She was nineteen years old, and this was her first trip to New York City. She had come by train, all the way from Little Rock, Arkansas. James was worried she might not be ready for the Broadway stage.

“Are you auditioning for Mina or Lucy?” he asked. Although he had found the Bram Stoker novel tedious, spun out in a succession of wordy letters and diary entries, James loved the Bela Lugosi movie and its characters. When James had first seen the movie at the Roxy with his father, he was only six years old, and it simultaneously terrified and delighted him. At his enthusiastic urging, his dad took him back to see the movie three weekends in a row. James understood that both roles in the
Dracula
play were important parts.

“Oh, Lucy!” Miss Fields said. “She
dies
when Dracula first bites her. Then she comes
back
as a vampire herself. It’s so exciting. Can you imagine? A
vampire
!”

James couldn’t have said why, but he felt uneasy as he handed the young actress over to Victor Lesley. Perhaps it was the way the lamps cast tall, ominous shadows on the high walls. Perhaps it was the way Mr. Lesley looked her over, like a vampire sizing up its prey. Perhaps it was because she seemed so young.

“Welcome, my dear,” said Mr. Lesley. “Charming, charming.”

The actor rubbed his hands together.

“I think we may be toasting the signing of a contract before the night is out,” he said. “I can take it from here, Ace.”

Back in the Grand Lobby, hoping to discuss his misgivings with Mr. Nash but not certain what to say, James instead found himself intercepted by Walter Quinn. Mr. Quinn was wearing his usual beige trench coat, and a camera with a flash attachment dangled from a brown leather strap around his neck. He seemed to be pressing for an audience. “A word, Jimmy, me boy,” Mr. Quinn said.

“Hi, Mr. Quinn. New camera?”

“A Kodak Retina, the latest in modern photography, complete with auxiliary flash attachment and independent light meter. The perfect tools for your roving society photographer.”

“Nice,” said James. “But are you certain this is the right night? I didn’t know we were expecting a ‘society’ event this evening.”

“We
could
discuss the society of four wealthy-looking Egyptians,” Mr. Quinn said. “It was hard not to miss those red fezzes. What might
they
be doing here? But, to answer your question, and I hope you will be equally forthcoming with me, I am expecting a wedding party. The Bridal Suite has been booked for weeks, and the lovely couple is expected momentarily.”