Storm cycle, p.30
Storm Cycle, page 30
But still . . .
Val leaned back in her chair and saw Simon working on the other side of the lab. Usually she was the stickler for rules, and Simon was the group’s risk taker.
Not this time, she decided.
She launched the allocation protocol to direct Jonesy’s processing cycles toward the mastaba wall code.
“We’re making good time.” Demanski stepped into the lounge of his plane, where Rachel, Tavak, and Allie were seated around a small table, examining the photographic prints that made up the newest message. “Figure out anything more there?”
“No,” Tavak said. “It’s like all the other pieces along the way. Parts are relatively easy to understand, but other sections are written entirely in code. This area gives us the general location of Peseshet’s burial chamber, but it’s short on specifics. I think the rest will tell us more about what we need to know.”
Rachel nodded. “I’ll check in with Val and Simon when we land and see what progress Jonesy has made.”
“The question of the hour is . . .” Tavak tapped the photos. “Does Dawson also have this message?”
Allie shrugged. “Look at the hoops we had to jump through. And it’s not just a matter of being smart. You have to have a specific kind of smarts.”
“Well, as excruciating as Dr. James Wiley is as a lecturer, there’s a good chance he has those smarts. He knows more about ancient Nile Delta languages and customs than just about anyone. Plus, he’s had more time with the mastaba wall than we’ve had. It’s possible they’ve beaten us to the punch.”
“We have something they don’t,” Demanski said. He nodded at Rachel. “You and your supercomputer network.”
“That’s true,” Tavak said. “They may still be playing catch-up.” He looked at Rachel. “I certainly hope so.”
So did Rachel. She had been on edge since Tavak had mentioned the possibility of Jonesy being compromised by the NSA and leaking to Dawson.
Tavak glanced back down at the message. “But it might be a good idea for us to have some muscle while we’re in Egypt.”
CAIRO INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT
CAIRO, EGYPT
“Welcome,” Nuri said from the open door of a large, black-paneled van with tinted windows. “It is a pleasure to welcome you back so soon.”
The van was waiting in the huge pickup/dropoff area in front of the airport after they had gone through Customs and picked up their visas at the booth. The scene appeared to be one of total chaos, with passengers and skycaps darting among literally hundreds of cabs, buses, and private vehicles.
Nuri jumped out of the van and helped Rachel, Allie, Tavak, and Demanski load their bags into the back. Within minutes, they were on their way out of the airport.
Nuri turned around and spoke to Tavak. “Again, I am sorry for your friend’s death,” he said quietly. “I feel I should have done more to protect him.”
“You did your best. It wasn’t your job to protect him, Nuri. That wasn’t what he wanted.”
Nuri smiled. “That is true. Ben was a proud man.”
“Yes, he was.”
“I would have liked to have been able to furnish you with a larger team, but it was short notice. I think you will find we’ll be capable of meeting your needs.” He motioned toward the driver. “This is Abu. He was part of the team that came to your aid before, Mr. Tavak.”
“I remember,” Tavak said dryly. “He also did some guard duty when I was your prisoner.”
Abu chuckled. “And now you are my employer. Life is strange. Nice to see you again.”
Nuri pointed to the van’s back row of seats, where the two remaining men sat. “And behind you are Oba and Meti. We’ve known each other since we were children.”
Demanski drummed his fingers on the roof of the van. “Where did you get this beast?”
Nuri shrugged. “Automobile rental agency. The windows are bulletproof, and the steel is over an inch thick in places. Some diplomats and business executives—Americans mostly—insist on a vehicle like this when they visit here. It makes them feel safer even though the crime rate in many U.S. cities is much worse.” Nuri turned to look at the setting sun. “We should be there in little over an hour. How long will we be at the site?”
“I’m not sure,” Tavak said. “It depends on what we find when we get there.”
NINETEEN
Detective Finley sat at his desk in the squad room and read the e-mail from NSA Agent Wayne Norton for a third time.
“What the hell?” Gonzalez came in holding his Black-Berry. “Did you see this?”
“Yeah.” Finley was still trying to make sense of Norton’s message:
Detectives Finley & Gonzalez,
I’m sending this to you because I have a great deal of respect for you both. There are not many men who would ignore threats and intimidation to do what they felt is right. Since that intimidation came from me, I have a personal admiration.
You have been very resourceful in your investigation of the Rachel Kirby shooting, and I must admit that some of the information you uncovered was a surprise even to me. I’m sure that you’ll be skeptical as you read this. You probably won’t believe it, but I didn’t want to think you were right about the NSA involvement. Manipulating information is one thing, murder of an innocent citizen is another. I knew nothing about the attempt on her life. But it was at that point that I began to think that I had been set up to take the fall for some extremely dirty business. I wasn’t going to let that happen, so I started launching an investigation of my own while I balanced very precariously on the edge of disaster.
And if you’re reading this, it means that my ignorance was most likely fatal. I have placed this e-mail and accompanying attachments in a timed autosend folder that I will reschedule every six hours as long as I am able. I’ve used the services of Paul Simmons, one of NSA’s most talented information specialists, who may also be able to bear witness. If he’s still alive. In brief, I’ve collected evidence indicating that Robert Pierce is using our access to Rachel Kirby’s data network for personal gain and attempted to kill her to avoid being discovered. She’s still in great danger. Pierce will never stop.
Please exercise extreme caution in your use and dissemination of this information.
N.
Gonzalez pocketed his phone. “I just called Norton’s office, but it went straight to voice mail.”
“But that’s nothing new. He could still be okay.” Finley stood and walked to the squad room’s printer. “I printed out the attachments. Let’s run this upstairs and show it to the tech guys.”
Val adjusted the headset as she sat down at the workstation. “Rachel, are you at the site yet?”
“We’re just outside the tomb in Saqqara now. We’re going in right now. Our guide had to make some arrangements with the Tourism and Antiquities Police.”
“Arrangements involving an insanely large wad of cash?”
“We won’t talk about that. Listen, I’ll be belowground and out of cell-phone range when I’m in the tomb. Before I go in, does Jonesy have any last pieces of information for me?”
“Yes. And Simon talked to Professor Azi for some clarification on a few things we couldn’t interpret or understand. Here’s what we have: ‘Lady Peseshet is a guest of the gracious Donkor, maker of fine clothing for the Pharaoh.’ ”
“Tavak was able to read that much himself. Donkor’s tomb was discovered in the 1940s, north of the Djojer Pyramid. I’m looking at it right now.”
“It says Peseshet waits behind the sun for her journey to the afterlife.”
“Behind the sun?”
“That’s what it says. It says that those who wish to bring Peseshet’s secrets to the world may do so, but they must also leave it with her to assure her safe passage. But here’s something interesting. It says that anyone who breaks the seal will only be given a quarter of a summer hour to visit the great Peseshet.”
“A summer hour?”
“I don’t know. That’s all it says.”
“Okay. Thanks for your help, Val. Thanks to Simon, too.”
“We’ll be here if you need us.”
“I’ll call you when we get back up topside. Wish us luck.” Rachel cut the connection.
Val pulled off her headset and turned to Simon. “Rachel is about to go in.”
“Maybe Jonesy can come up with the name of a good lawyer when she gets herself arrested. I’m going to the snack bar. You want anything?”
“No, thanks.”
Simon left the lab. Val launched the allocation protocol and began the task of restoring Jonesy’s processing duties to the various projects. Outages were not all that uncommon due to system maintenance, upgrades, and the like, and none of the project managers had even called to complain. Val didn’t think it was necessary to inform Rachel of the drastic measures she had taken, but she would note the interruption in the logs they kept for—
What the hell?
Val leaned forward and studied the screen. In the years she had been working with Jonesy, she’d thought she had seen everything.
She had never seen this.
SAQQARA, EGYPT
Tavak shined his flashlight into the tomb of Donkor. “Here we go. Time to visit the Lady.”
Nuri reached over and switched off Tavak’s flashlight. “Please. The Tourism and Antiquities Police were quite agreeable, but they made me promise we wouldn’t turn on any flashlights or lanterns outside the tomb. We would be too easy for their superiors to spot.”
“You’re right,” Tavak said. “My apologies.” He turned to Rachel. “So according to Jonesy, Peseshet is waiting for us on the other side of the sun?”
“That’s what the message says. And apparently, our invitation is only good for less than an hour.”
“What do you mean?”
“The exact words were ‘quarter of a summer hour.’ After that, we’re no longer welcome in her tomb.”
“A summer hour? What the hell does that mean?” Allie asked.
Tavak led them into the tomb. “The ancient Egyptians were one of the first societies with a twenty-four-hour day. The catch is, their hours were different lengths, depending what time of year it was. During the summer, hours were more like eighty minutes.”
“So we’ll wear out our welcome in twenty minutes,” Demanski said. “Got it.”
He and Allie set off down the narrow corridor.
“Oba, Meti.” Nuri gestured to the entrance. “Stay and guard here.”
Tavak shook his head. “If you don’t mind, they may be more useful someplace else. I’ve already discussed it with them while we were waiting for you.”
Nuri frowned. “Where?”
Tavak produced a hand-drawn map and handed it to Oba.
Nuri glanced at the map in bewilderment. “This is a half mile from here. Are you sure this is where you want them?”
“That’s where I want them.” He turned to Rachel. “Do you agree?”
Rachel nodded. “Absolutely.”
He smiled at her. “Thank you.” He stood aside and gestured for her to precede him into Donkor’s tomb. “Shall we go to see the Lady?”
The Lady Peseshet. Are you here? Are you waiting for us?
Darkness.
The flashlights cast patches of light on the walls, but the narrow path was serpentine, and they could only see for a short distance ahead of them.
She could hear Allie and Demanski ahead of them, but she couldn’t see them.
Age.
Stone.
Dampness.
Flashlight beams played across the stone floors and over the carved reliefs that told the story of Donkor’s life and family. Rust-colored hieroglyphics covered almost every square inch of the walls.
It had been hot outside, but Rachel was cold now.
“Okay?” Tavak was suddenly beside her.
She nodded jerkily. “It’s just strange down here. I . . . feel . . .”
“What?”
She couldn’t explain. It wasn’t fear, but a sort of chill expectation. “Nothing.”
Then suddenly they turned the corner and were in a large offering room. Demanski and Allie were standing there gazing at reliefs carved on the walls, depicting a funeral feast for the gods.
“Look how distinctively the people are dressed in these reliefs,” Rachel said. “Beautiful draping.”
Tavak shined his flashlight on the wall. “Donkor designed and made clothing for the Pharaoh and other wealthy citizens. These designs were probably part of his offering to the gods. A couple of these wouldn’t be that out of place in department-store windows on Fifth Avenue.”
“Except that one.” Allie directed her flashlight at a relief of a bare-chested man with a falcon head.
“That’s Horus,” Tavak said. He smiled as the realization hit him. “He was the sun in the sky.”
Rachel swung her flashlight toward it. “The other side of the sun . . .”
Allie and Demanski were running their hands over the wall below the relief, feeling for a seam. Demanski turned back. “There’s no doorway here. It’s solid.”
“Of course it is,” Rachel said. “It was never meant to be discovered. If the Pharaoh knew that Donkor had constructed a tomb for Peseshet, it would have been dangerous for him and his family. He must have felt he owed her a great debt, so he constructed hidden chambers for her at the same time he built his own.”
“We have to get through that wall,” Tavak said. “Abu.”
Abu slung a canvas bag from his shoulder and upended it, dropping half a dozen sledgehammers onto the ground. “Help yourselves.”
As they picked up their sledgehammers, Nuri moved to the wall and drew an imaginary outline with his hand. “You want to start high and work your way down. As you dislodge the higher portions of the wall, gravity will help bring down the rest.”
Allie turned toward Demanski. “Why do I get the feeling he’s done this kind of thing before?”
Tavak hefted his sledgehammer and turned back to Rachel. “We don’t have time to be delicate. We’ve talked about this. Are we still on the same page?”
Rachel knew he was speaking of the balance between possibly destroying artifacts of the past to gain the medical miracles for the future.
She didn’t hesitate. She took aim with her sledgehammer and cracked the blank sandstone wall.
Tavak nodded. “Good.”
They swung at the wall with their sledgehammers, and in a few minutes they had created an opening through which they could peer inside.
Tavak shined his flashlight into the opening. “It’s huge,” he said. “Bigger than anything up here. Keep at it.”
They hit harder and more vigorously, and when a particularly large section of the wall fell, they heard a dull roar.
Tavak froze. “Stop!”
They stood motionless as the sound continued.
“What is it?” Rachel said.
Tavak shook his head. “I thought it might be a cave-in, but it’s not.” He pressed his ear against the wall. “I think it’s sand. It’s in all the walls.” He turned to Nuri. “It’s something we triggered.”
“Like a booby trap?” Demanski said.
“The message said we’ll be given a quarter of a summer hour,” Rachel said. “This may be the start of it.”
Tavak nodded. “Tons of sand may be being released from some kind of counterweight system.”
“What happens when it runs out?” Allie said.
Tavak set the stopwatch function on his watch. “I don’t know, but I don’t want to be here to find out. Let’s make this fast.”
They crawled through the opening. Once again Rachel felt the strange sensation that had overtaken her before.
Only now did she realize what it was.
Val stared at the monitor in frustration. She had explored every adjustment she could think to make. But the readout still didn’t make sense.
The usage statistics were seriously out of whack with the reports Jonesy had been generating.
Had she screwed something up?
No. Not a chance. The only way these numbers could be correct is if—
“I told you not to do that,” Simon said.
Val jumped.
He was standing behind her, so close that she could feel his breath on the back of her neck.
He nodded toward the screen. “What do you make of it?”
She tried to be casual. “It’s a glitch. You’re right, I should have known there would be problems if I reallocated Jonesy’s cycles like this.”
Simon smiled. “A glitch.”
“We’ve seen our share around here, huh?” She grabbed her keys from the desk. “I think I’m going to go outside and—”
She tried to stand, but Simon pushed her back down into her chair. “You’re smarter than that. You know it’s not a glitch.”
He leaned close, and said softly into her ear, “Tell me what you see.”
She didn’t answer.
He shook her chair violently. “Tell me!”
She stared straight ahead, trying not to let him know how much he was scaring her. He knew what she was thinking. He knew. “I see . . . some of the processing cycles from each of these projects being rerouted.”
“Rerouted where?”
“I don’t know. But it’s happening somewhere in the chain after Jonesy takes stock of where it’s going. It doesn’t show up in the reports.” She turned and looked up at him. “It’s you. That’s the only way it makes sense.”
He nodded.
“Why?” she asked. “You’ve given just as much of yourself to this project as I have.”
“I got an offer.”
“It must have been a hell of an offer.”
“It was. And from someone who said he could make things right for me legally if the worst happened.”
“Norton? That asshole Norton?”
Simon shook his head. “Norton’s boss, Pierce.”
