The Amun Chamber Read online

  He regretted the necessity of leaving Elizabeth alone for a time, but felt it was unavoidable. There was a matter he must discuss with Edith in strictest confidence; a subject that must be fully explored before the three of them got together later in the evening. If Elizabeth was going to be hit with any unpleasant revelations about her grandfather, then he wanted to know of it in advance.

  The study door opened behind him.

  Turning, he set his drink down and embraced the elderly woman warmly. Since his early morning arrival, this was their first real greeting in private.

  “Did I tell you how much I missed you?” she said, clasping his hands and beaming up at him. “You look well. The tour couldn’t have been all that tiresome.”

  “Not bad at all. I’m sorry we showed up at such a busy time for you. I thought these little fund-raisers weren’t going to be held until late September?”

  “They weren’t. Not initially, anyway. But things have a way of changing, as you well know. They now say the scheduling for the new lab annex has to be moved up a few months; something about an expected rise in construction costs, or some such thing. I care only it gets completed before I’m too old and decrepit to make use of it. In case you haven’t noticed, dear boy, I’m hardly getting any younger.”

  He smiled, just as she fully intended. Her unflagging humor and high spirits were always infectious. Pleased, she released his hands and moved to the glass doors. By the direction of her gaze and thoughtful expression, he knew who it was she was watching.

  “So what do you think of her?” he asked.

  “A very charming and lovely woman. Perhaps most appealing of all, I don’t think she’s even aware of how beautiful she really is.” She moved her head slightly. “But I still find it difficult to accept that she’s actually Lionel’s granddaughter. Imagine, after all this time. Why, it hardly seems possible.”

  “Any family resemblance? Must take you back . . .”

  Marginally amused, she turned and looked into his eyes.

  “Really, David, it’s been over half a century. Just how vivid do you expect my memory to be?”

  He shrugged. “Only curious.”

  Suspicious, she fixed him with a penetrating look. “Now why do I get the feeling you thought maybe my meeting her would somehow—What? Maybe jog loose all the fuzzy cobwebs from this old head of mine? Believe me, David, I can’t add anything more about Lionel than I’ve already told you. Is this why you wanted to see me alone?”

  It never ceased to amaze him how intuitive she was; how easily she sometimes saw into the workings of his mind. “Well, it does have to do with Lionel, yes.”

  “Can’t it wait until later? I thought we agreed to discuss this big mystery of yours later this evening after everyone’s gone.”

  “And we will. But there’s a question I need answered before then; something only you can tell me.”

  “Which is?”

  He hesitated, unsure how best to phrase it. “It concerns Lionel’s actual character, his personal ethics . . . Something we really never got into.”

  Her brow knit in growing irritation. “Oh, you’ll have to do better than that! I haven’t the foggiest idea what you—”

  “Then I’ll be more specific,” he said bluntly. “Did he ever give you reason to suspect he was involved in any kind of smuggling operation?”

  She gave a firm shake of her head before he even finished.

  “Not once,” she declared. “Never!”

  “You don’t want to give it more thought?”

  “I don’t need to. That’s hardly something I’d be likely to forget, now is it?”

  “As long as you’re sure.”

  Edith pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Does this have anything at all to do with those rumors concerning the Burkhart dig at Tell El Amarna? Because if it does, then you’re way off the mark.”

  “Tell El Amarna was the last place he was employed before his death. At least that we know of, anyway.”

  “Proving what? That he was somehow involved in something nefarious? What an absurd conclusion! There were probably fifteen or more people working that brief excavation—and God only knows how much native labor!”

  “It was more than just ‘rumors,’ Edith. Valuable artifacts did disappear.”

  “So out of the blue you suspect Lionel was one of the culprits?”

  “I didn’t say that. I merely want to know if you thought he was capable of such behavior.”

  “Well, he wasn’t!” she said dismissively. “And what about Elizabeth? It would be very cruel of you to even suggest her grandfather was—“

  “I haven’t. That’s why I wanted to get this out of the way in private.” He smiled briefly. “Believe me, your final judgment on his character is important to me. I need to hear it said.”

  Edith leaned back against her desk. “Am I to assume all this has to do with why you’ve spent all day locked up alone in the lab? Or why you intend flying off to Athens and Cairo tonight when you’ve only just arrived?”

  “You’re skirting the subject.”

  Exasperated, she heaved a sigh. “All right, I see we’ll have do it your way. But the least you can do is meet me half way and stop being so inscrutable. If you think you’ve evidence Lionel might have been involved in something shady, then please just come out and say it.”

  “Would it surprise you?”

  “It most certainly would! And I strongly doubt anything you think you have would ever convince me.”

  “Why is that?”

  She hesitated, now looking less inclined to be angry with him. If anything, she appeared weary. “Lionel DeCaylus was a most unusual man in many ways,” she said in a calmer tone. “But a criminal? No. He was far too decent to ever stoop to such a thing. He’d no more steal and sell artifacts on the black-market than—well, than you would! It simply wasn’t in him, David. You’ll just have to take my word on it.”

  He accepted the sincerity of her judgment, if not its veracity. He understood her natural kindness towards others, her willingness to see only the best in people. It was one of her most endearing qualities and he had no wish to challenge her further. He needed her honest opinion on Lionel, and she’d given it. It was obvious she felt deep pity for him, for why else save his letters all this time? Doubtless, too, he thought, she believed all his years in Egypt had tragically come to nothing.

  He smiled, knowing tonight all of this would change.

  “I’m satisfied,” he said, taking her hand. “I think its time we go back and see to yours guests.”

  * * *

  It was nine o’clock that evening when Edith finally replaced the gold disk into the small, felt-lined case. Seated behind the oak desk of her study, she appeared shaken as she pushed the disk across to David. Stunned was perhaps a better word to describe her frozen features. She swallowed before speaking.

  “Now I understand why you wanted all that time alone in the lab,” she said. “This—this is simply incredible. I assume you ran all the tests? Put it under x-ray fluorescence?”

  He nodded. “The spectrometry shows no trace of modern impurities in the gold. There’s no question the metal is of ancient origin.”

  “And the gold wire holding the stones? Did you check it very carefully under—”

  “Twice, in fact. Microscopic examination shows only the classic spiral pattern; no detectable longitudinal lines, whatsoever. It was made in the ancient manner by a master craftsman, painstakingly twisting a hammered strip of gold.”

  “Incredible,” she repeated, still staring in wonder at the beautiful enigma. One would have to be blind not to accept the authenticity of the piece, she thought, but did this make David’s assumption right? Was it actually possible this came from the fabled sarcophagus of Alexander the Great? The whole idea was almost too astonishing to contemplate. Yet she could rationalize no other reason for this artifact to even exist. Now she looked from Elizabeth to David, for no less amazing to her was the story of its discovery. �
��And you’re telling me this lay unknown and untouched in Jacob’s house all these years? Is this even possible?”

  “Apparently so,” he said. “We think there’s only one explanation that makes any sense. Norman Wakelin, Lionel’s old friend, brought the trunk back from Alexandria and delivered it to Elizabeth’s father. Jacob must’ve simply placed it up in the attic and forgot all about it.”

  “And neither of them thought to open it? Quite astounding.”

  David could readily understand her skepticism. But all the pieces fit too perfectly for it to be otherwise. Aloud, he said, “It’s not really this illogical. Norman probably never gave it a thought—a small favor done for an old friend, nothing more. As for Jacob, well, I think Elizabeth has pretty much explained what his attitude was towards his father.”

  Edith needing no reminder. “I suppose we should be grateful he even stored it all,” she said, “and not tossed it into the sea. So I take it then you’re both now convinced Lionel’s death was no accident?”

  It was Elizabeth who answered.

  “I admit, it’s still difficult for me to accept,” she said, “but the evidence is hard to ignore. I’ve read the translation of the police report. Even if you discount the suspicions of the police about the fall as being purely speculative, there’s still the question of my grandfather signing the register using a fictitious name. Unless he felt threatened, or was hiding from someone, why do this?”

  “Why, indeed?” mused Edith. “All in all, it does look pretty bad.”

  “In more ways than one,” added David grimly. “If Lionel was murdered, then there’s the real probability his discovery is now lost forever.”

  Edith frowned, suddenly recognizing the enormity of this conclusion. “You’re quite right, of course. I hadn’t thought of that aspect. Damn if it only compounds the tragedy! But the logic is inescapable, isn’t it? If we accept the premise that Lionel was murdered because he made a brilliant find, then we also have to assume that whoever killed him came into possession of it—or, at the very least, learned its location. Either way, the end result would be the same.”

  Elizabeth leaned forward in her chair.

  “Whoa, slow down!” she said, looking alternately from one to the other. “I don’t understand. What ‘end result’ are you talking about? This all happened over sixty years ago. If the location of Alexander’s coffin was known, then surely the whole world would know of it by now. What would anyone—even a murderer—hope to gain by simply sitting on it?”

  “Absolutely nothing,” said David. “And that’s the point. Remember, we’re talking about someone willing to kill in order to get the treasure—and treasure would’ve been all he wanted. If gold was involved—and this disk says there was—then there’s only one way for him to profit. The sarcophagus would almost certainly be smashed to pieces, the gold melted down for easy handling and disposal. The historical value of the find would mean nothing to him. And the actual body, itself? I imagine it would’ve been tossed away.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “There’s no point in our getting into this under false illusions. The systematic looting of ancient sights and tombs has been a way of life in Egypt since the time of the pharaohs. If anything, it may even be more widespread than ever. And not just in Egypt, either. Artifacts are being plundered around the entire Mediterranean every day.”

  David knew the ugly realities of modern archaeology first-hand. In Greece alone, the number of sites looted before any responsible authority got to the scene was beyond counting, the damage usually irreparable. Many plundered sites were never found, their existence only hinted at when artifacts filtered onto the lucrative black-market. However, exceptions to the rule often did take place. Sometimes, archaeologists were lucky enough to actually break through the wall of silence. It was always a dangerous game, to be sure, and one never undertaken lightly. He, himself, accomplished it four or five times in the past several years. His contacts inside this illegal trade weren’t many, but those he did have were fairly well placed.

  He saw the dejected look on Elizabeth’s face. What he’d given her was a new and unpleasant perspective, but it was still no reason to abandon all hope. “What I painted was the worst possible scenario,” he now told her, “but it’s not the only one. Not by a long shot. At this point, nothing is beyond the realm of possibility.”

  She nodded in appreciation.

  “Which brings us back to square one,” he said, turning again to Edith. “If we’re going to have any success retracing Lionel’s tracks in Egypt, we’ll need every bit of available information. Is there anything more you can think of?”

  “I’m really sorry,” she said. “What you already have in your notebook is all there is, David.” She gestured towards the disk. “In light of this, I only wish I had something more to offer . . .”

  “Then we’ll just have to concentrate on Burkhart’s Tell El Amarna records and hope for the best.”

  As they stood, it came to Edith that perhaps there was something more she could contribute. “You know, the longer I think on it, David, the more convinced I become you two should seek out the help of a very old and dear friend of mine in Cairo. I’m referring to Dr. Lewis Gobeir. From a purely practical point of view, who better to assist in your investigation? If you’re both so determined to undertake this, then why not enlist the finest available mind to assist you?”

  He saw the wisdom of this. Though he’d yet to discuss it with Elizabeth, it was inevitable that others must eventually be taken into their confidence. And who better than Dr. Gobeir? He knew the reputation, if not the man—and his credentials were impeccable. A decade younger than Edith, he was the retired Director of Antiquities at the famed Cairo Museum—and a veritable legend in the field of Egyptology.

  He glanced at Elizabeth, noting the tired lines about her eyes. She was obviously exhausted, their flight to Cairo still yet ahead of them.

  “What’s your thoughts on this?” he asked her. “Understand, we’ll have to tell him everything, hold nothing back. His knowledge and expertise could prove invaluable.”

  “If you believe he’s someone we need, I’m all for it.”

  Pleased, Edith stood. “Then it’s settled. And you won’t regret it, either. There’s no one I can recommend more.”

  * * *

  Hours later, Edith sat alone in her bedroom, absently fingering the chained, silver locket at her breast, the one adornment she’d worn faithfully for over sixty years. Deep in thought, she scarcely heard the faint chimes of the antique clock announcing the arrival of midnight. The only evidence of her growing unease was a small, crystal glass of sherry on the end table by her chair. She very seldom drank alone. Almost never.

  Guilt? she wondered. Was this what she felt?

  If so, then it was irrational and unfounded.

  True, she may not have been completely forthcoming with David about Lionel; but, then again, she reasoned, she never exactly lied to him, either. There was a difference. Surely the disclosure of an affair of the heart—a passion long buried in time—would serve no possible purpose to his investigation. That it even occurred at all was totally irrelevant. No, she concluded, she did the right thing. Some memories were far too personal, too deeply private, to share with anyone. Not even with David, whom she dearly loved as her own son.

  A faint and unfamiliar noise now pricked her ear.

  Curious as to what this might be, she leaned forward in her chair, listening for any repetition. Nothing. Was she imagining things? No! There it was again! A short, grating sound like the muffled scrape of wood against wood . . .

  Knowing herself to be completely alone in the house, she picked up her cane and walked out through the darkened parlor to the front entrance. But there was nothing amiss; the outside door remained latched and bolted, just as she’d left it. Satisfied, she glanced down the length of the hallway towards her study. Was she now seeing things, as well? For the briefest instant there appeared to be a tiny flash of
light emanating from beneath the door. Perplexed, she went to investigate this mystery.

  Edith was several steps into the moonlit room before she realized cool, night air was inexplicably caressing her face. What the—! The sliding glass doors were ajar! But how could this be? They were always kept closed and locked, never used as an entrance. And there was more. The top drawer of her desk was pulled half open.

  A burglary? What could anyone hope to— Suddenly conscious of an unseen presence, she spun around as the study door was closed from the inside. A tall figure moved out of the shadows and came towards her—and she gasped upon seeing his face. It was a face so familiar, yet one now so cold in its aspect as to actually frighten her.

  “You—?”

  Sal Oristano held her with his intense eyes, his features uncharacteristically grave as he stood before her. His gaze was chilling, unnatural; and when he spoke, she felt the hairs prickling along the back of her neck.

  “You really do disappoint me, dear lady,” he said in a soft tone. “I was sure a woman of your advanced years would be long asleep at this hour. Such a pity.”

  Edith moved her head in utter bewilderment. This was definitely not the Oristano she’d known these many years. This man was a stranger; someone whose presence here defied all reason. Her eyes darted again to her open drawer. This was obviously his doing. But why?

  “I don’t understand,” she managed. “What could you possibly want from here?”

  “Only retrieving what’s mine,” he said. He opened his gloved hand, showing her a small, metallic device; which he then dropped it into his jacket pocket. “Marvelous inventions, these. It’s really quite amazing how they pick up the least little sound, not to mention the most intimate of conversations.”