Sands of Time (Out of Time #6) (19 page)

“Think they’re included in Egypt’s Consumer Price Index?” she murmured to Simon as their little entourage, including Jack and Hassan, was escorted into the back holding cell area.

He narrowed his brow in question.

“Bribes,” she mouthed, and his narrowed brow turned into a full blown warning glare turned eye roll.

She shrugged. It seemed a fair question. From what she’d seen it was part and parcel of every day life here. They seemed to have had their pick of officers ready to take a payoff to see the man who’d been caught breaking into Whiteside’s room. Maybe high supply kept prices low.

“You understand the need to keep whatever happens here between us,” Simon said.

Hassan grinned.

Simon held up his hand. “Yes, yes, I know. But do you understand?”

Hassan nodded. “Hassan is nothing if not discrete, Mister Cross. I have told no one about New Year’s Eve 1918. What happened between Her Royal Highness and that busboy in the kitchens is their own business.”

Jack laughed while Simon looked at Hassan blankly before Elizabeth stepped in. “He understands.”

“Good,” Simon said. “And thank you for translating.”

Hassan inclined his head.

Jack closed the door to the small jail area in the back of the station as the officer left them alone with the man in the cell. “We only have five minutes.”

Simon walked over to the iron bars and stared at the man inside. He had on the same jet black robes as the man who’d broken into their rooms, but his keffiyeh was gone. His complexion was dark and his beard as black as his robes.

“Who are you?” Simon asked. Hassan quickly translated.

The man looked over at Simon, his expression flat, and he slowly stood from his spot on a wooden cot. He walked over and stood near Simon, the bars the only barrier between them. His eyes, nearly black, shifted from Simon to Jack to Elizabeth and back again.

He leaned forward and said a single word in Arabic.

Hassan looked surprised, but translated. “Vengeance.”

Elizabeth and Jack shared a nervous look.

Unperturbed, Simon pressed on. “Who do you work for?”

The man listened to Hassan, but his eyes never left Simon’s.

“I am an arrow of the Goddess,” Hassan translated quickly. “Hovering in the air, waiting to pierce your heart.”

There was so much conviction in his eyes, so much hatred. Elizabeth couldn’t stop the shiver that made her wriggle in place.

“Who do you work for?” Simon asked calmly.

Simon must have heard and felt the Charles Manson crazy that practically dripped from every word the man spoke, but somehow he managed not to let it show.

Hassan relayed the question.

“It has been foretold,” the man said. “The fate of the evil ones is sealed in the earth.”

The man lifted his eyes upward in devotion. His arms outstretched and the rest of them took a small step backward. His robe sleeves fell back slightly and Elizabeth could see the tattoo on his wrist clearly now. It was definitely the Eye of Ra.

“The Mighty One, Lady of the Flame, One Before Whom Evil Trembles,” Hassan translated. The man spoke with growing passion. “Mine is a heart of carnelian, crimson as murder on a holy day. Mine is a heart of cornmeal, the gnarled roots of dogwood and the bursting…”

The man’s religious zeal grew louder and faster. Hassan struggled to keep up with the rantings.

“I will what I will. Mine is a heart of carnelian, blood red as the crest of a phoenix!”

Then, just as suddenly as he’d started, the ravings stopped.

“I told you we weren’t going to get anything useful out of him,” Jack said. “Guy’s a nutcase.”

The man smiled and whispered in English, “Betrayers.”

And then, suddenly, everything went black. The darkness was so complete and so abrupt Elizabeth wasn’t sure if the lights had gone out or she’d simply ceased to be.

She felt a hand grip her arm and pull at her, and she gasped in alarm.

“Elizabeth?” Simon said.

“Sorry, that’s just me,” Jack said, as he squeezed her arm.

Elizabeth pushed out a relieved breath. “Simon?”

“Here,” he said, his voice not far.

She couldn’t make him out in the total darkness. The room was in the center of the building and had no windows at all.

“Everyone all right?” Simon asked.

Elizabeth felt Simon’s hand touch her shoulder and pull her closer to him.

“The power grid,” Hassan said. “It is…unreliable. But,” he added and Elizabeth heard the snap and whoosh of a match being lit, “Everything will be all right.”

He touched the tip of his match to two taper candles.

“Where did you get those?” Elizabeth asked.

Hassan patted his cloth belt. “Trust in Hassan.”

Simon took one of the candles and held it out toward the cell. The pool of light it gave off was weak, but there was enough to see inside the small cell. And it was empty.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Elizabeth brushed a few strands of hair from her eyes. The wind was beginning to pick up, but she didn’t mind. The sun and the warm wind felt good. Anything warm would feel good after the chill that had taken up lease in her guts.

Fate. Prophecies. Were they ever good? Just once she’d like to hear, “You will lose two pounds without trying!” or “You will hit only green lights on the way to the market today!”

“I’m sure it was just religious claptrap,” Simon said.

“Could be,” Jack said, as he took a drag off his cigarette, “but betrayers is kind of specific.”

Simon took a drink of his lemonade. “I’m sure anyone who isn’t a true believer is a betrayer of some sort in the cult’s eyes.”

“And his little disappearing act?” Jack said.

Simon lifted his chin in silent defiance. “Just that, an act. Rather coincidental, wasn’t it for the lights to go out just then?” He shook his head. “Theatrics.”

Jack frowned and tapped his cigarette on the edge of the ashtray on the table. “Pretty good ones. I didn’t see any way out of that cell.”

“Just because you couldn’t see it, doesn’t mean it wasn’t there,” Simon countered and then frowned deeply at Jack’s cigarette. “And must you do that?”

Jack took a long defiant drag before snubbing it out.

“Thank you,” Simon said tersely.

While they argued about what they’d seen or not seen and the little they’d learned at the police station, Elizabeth tried to clear her mind. She’d let her fears get the better of her back there and she seriously needed to find something and grip it.

Okay, so they were up against an ancient cult that wanted them dead; they’d faced worse. Hadn’t they? She frowned at that rather unpleasant thought and decided to focus on something tangible instead.

If they could just find the other half of the papyrus, they might know what this was all about. The cult member hadn’t torched it just for giggles. That meant it mattered. But without the second part, it was useless.

Another dead end. She took a deep breath and tried to let the warmth of the sun that shone down onto Shepheard’s veranda soothe her. She closed her eyes and just as she did a strong gust of wind came.

Someone’s hat flew past and napkins and papers swirled in the wind. A woman near the next table gripped the wide brim of her sun hat, but forgot her scarf. The silk began to float off her shoulders, but an edge snagged and it rippled in the air. It streamed out behind the woman like a flag before slipping away.

The scarf danced on the wind, fluttering like some living creature before taking a sudden nosedive and wrapping itself around the leg of a nearby chair. The woman was too busy readjusting her hat to notice she’d lost her scarf and Elizabeth hurried to pick it up before it worked itself free and was caught in another gust.

She saved it just in time and ran the silken material between her hands to loosen any sand that might have found its way onto it. Glad for the distraction from the doom and gloom, Elizabeth paused for a moment to admire the pattern on the scarf. What she saw brought her up short.

The lightbulb that went off in her head was so bright it nearly blew a fuse. She quickly studied it, her heart racing and ran over to the woman.

“Elizabeth?” she heard Simon say in alarm.

“Where did you get this?” Elizabeth asked the woman as she held the scarf out.

The woman stared at her dumbly.

“Where did you get it?” Elizabeth repeated, more urgently.

The woman looked at Elizabeth warily and pointed to a vendor’s cart on the street in front of the hotel.

Forgetting her manners in what she thought just might be the break they needed, Elizabeth tossed the scarf back to the woman and turned back toward her table, but Simon and Jack were already standing and coming over to her. “What’s the matter?”

Elizabeth stuck out her hand. “I need money.” How could they have missed it? How many times had she seen this scarf walk by wrapped around the neck of a tourist, sitting in a shop window or on a vendor’s cart?

Simon frowned, but dug into his wallet.

Before he could choose a bill, Elizabeth snatched the whole thing and hurried down the broad steps of the hotel. She ignored the peddlers and beggars and headed straight for the cart with the scarves. Simon and Jack trailed close behind.

“How much?” she asked, pointing to one of the scarves. “
Bikeam
?”

The man replied; she shoved a bill at him and snatched up one of the scarves.

“What on earth’s gotten into you?” Simon said.

“This,” Elizabeth said as she held out the scarf.

Simon and Jack exchanged worried glances.

“This is the other half of the papyrus.” She unfurled the scarf to reveal rows of hieroglyphics, the top row only half there, the remaining silk screened image was the missing bottom half of Whiteside’s papyrus. “It’s been right in front of us the whole time.”

~ ~ ~

“Remarkable,” Whiteside said as he studied the scarf.

Christina flipped through her sketchpad and then laid it out on the table above the scarf, lining up the two edges.

Elizabeth could barely believe it. It was a perfect match. The anticipation in the room was electric.

“What does it say?” Jack asked.

Whiteside brought a finger to his mouth and pursed his lips. “Well, let’s see. The gift was given to the pharaoh of the New Kingdom.”

“Who would that be?” Elizabeth asked excitedly. They were so close now.

Whiteside stood up straight and tugged on his ear. “Oh, that covers quite a few. The New Kingdom, well that’s the 16th Century to the 11th Century. It could be anyone from Amhosis the First to Ramesses the Eleventh. Or it could refer to something else entirely.”

Elizabeth didn’t bother to hide her frustration and looked to Simon. Where was that darned Easy Button? He held up a hand urging patience.

Whiteside leaned back over the scarf. “It speaks of the glory and the power of the gift…Hail his majesty, the sun disk shining from his palm, glittering above the sky second to no other. The gods bowed down. All pay adoration to the one, the glorious being who rises above all. The Aten, that’s the sun or Ra or sometimes more generic for God…the Aten, the living one who rejoices on the horizon and is the throne of the Lord of Heaven.”

Whiteside leaned back and silence followed.

“Is that it?” Jack asked, the disappointment in his voice echoing Elizabeth’s.

“Yes,” Whiteside said thoughtfully.

Elizabeth looked down at the scarf, that sinking, disappointed feeling heavy in her stomach. She’d been so sure. Maybe he’d missed something? “What does all that mean? Can you tell which Pharaoh it’s talking about?”

Whiteside took off his reading glasses. “It’s fairly typical of the period, I’m afraid. I wish I had more.”

“If it doesn’t really tell us anything,” Jack said. “Why would the cult want to destroy it?”

Whiteside looked at the scarf for a moment before shaking his head. “Have you learned anything more about that? The cult, I mean.”

Simon told them the abridged version of events, leaving out the surprise ending.

Whiteside pursed his lips and then chewed thoughtfully on the end of his glasses. “Sekhmet.”

Simon nodded. He’d read the book Whiteside had given him and recognized the names the cult member had recited. “The Lady of the Flame.”

“She has well over a hundred names. The Eye of Ra, the Devouring One, Mistress of Dread. And so on.”

“She appears in the form of a woman with the head lioness, doesn’t she?” Christina asked.

“Yes,” Whiteside said. “She’s the goddess of conquest and vengeance.”

Betrayers
, Elizabeth thought.

“What’s her connection, or her cult’s, to the papyrus?” Jack asked.

Whiteside leaned back in his chair. “Amenhotep III was quite taken with Sekhmet. He had hundreds of statues built in her honor.”

“And he was a pharaoh of the New Kingdom,” Christina supplied.

Elizabeth plopped down into the nearest chair and chewed the inside of her lip. That sounded logical enough, but what did the watch have to do with it? What did
they
have to do with it?

Whiteside tucked his glasses into his pocket. “Perhaps we’ll find something else to help us be sure.”

Simon pushed out a breath and paced to the far side of the room. He stopped, pivoted and looked at Elizabeth. “There is something else,” he said and looked to Jack and Elizabeth for permission. “The letter?”

She nodded and Jack did the same. In for a penny, in for a pound.

“It’s probably nothing,” Simon continued, “but there was a note. It could be unrelated but…it said, ‘Now is the winter of our discontent, made glorious summer by this sun.’“

Christina chewed on her thumbnail in thought. “Richard III.”

“Yes,” Simon said. “Other than in this case, ironic, references to the glory of a king and the sun, of course, that’s a play on words though…”

Christina looked up at him, a thoughtful scowl on her face. “He was a hunchback, wasn’t he?”

“Yes, in the play, he was,” Simon said. “‘Deformed, unfinished, sent before his time into this breathing world, scarce half made up.’“

A slow broad smile stretched across Christina’s face and she turned to her father.