"But it's only a portion of a cure. Dammit, that's nothing."

"No, that's a start," he said. "And enough that Jamerson copied down the procedure and sent it to an associate, Ted Mills, who was head of a pharmaceutical company in the U.S. Mills was cautiously excited. He wanted to know where the rest of the formula could be found. That was enough for Jamerson. He knew how much money medical breakthroughs could bring a man. He decided to go after the big prize. He falsified his X-ray results so that, as far as anyone at his museum knew, their Egyptian exhibit remained just as unremarkable as everyone always assumed it was. Jamerson searched until he found someone who he thought might possibly be able to find out more about the rest of the formula."

"You?"

"Me." He inclined his head. "I'm sure you have a dossier on me by now and know my credentials are unique. I met with Jamerson, and he handed over the transcription on the Natifah mastaba wall to me."

"What did he pay you to take the job?"

"Less than I'm worth. But the possibilities intrigued me."

"I want to see that transcript of the message on the mastaba wall."

"Of course."

"Now."

He shook his head. "Eventually."

"I'll go to Jamerson and get it."

"It would be a long trip. I imagine he resides in hell these days. Greed and corruption aren't looked upon kindly at the pearly gates."

She stiffened. "He's dead? You?"

"No, I took his job. I never kill the goose that lays the platinum egg. He was killed by Charles Dawson, the bastard you were so kind to save me from last night." He scowled. "But they wouldn't let me go back after him. I'm not pleased about that. Dammit, there's too good a chance that he probably went back to that tomb."

"I don't give a damn what you're pleased about. Norton was supposed to save your life and pen you up for me. That's all."

"I'll bet you'll give a damn before very long. You'll probably feel as pissed off that Dawson is still walking around as I do before this is over."

"Why? Just who is this Charles Dawson?"

"Dr. Charles Ansel Dawson. He has several degrees, one of which is medical. He's very bright, has all the ethics and conscience of a cobra, and is completely egotistical."

"Sounds like you."

"No. We differ on a number of fronts. I do have a few grains of conscience."

"So you say. Is Dawson after the Peseshet cure, too?"

Tavak nodded. "He's the hired gun for Ted Mills. That's what he does for a living. He's principally a cleanup man. When pharmaceutical companies get into hot water abroad for illegal practices, they hire Dawson to come in and make sure that their names and reputations aren't compromised. He does anything he has to do to clean up their dirty laundry." He shrugged. "And sometimes his cleanup is worse than the filth the pharmaceutical companies spread."

"And why did Dawson kill Jamerson?"

"As I said, he was hired by Jamerson's buddy, that pharmaceutical executive, Ted Mills, to uncover the same information Jamerson hired me to dig out. Dawson's first stop was Jamerson, and he wasn't gentle in his questioning. Jamerson died of a heart attack, but he'd obviously been beaten and had two ribs broken. Since Dawson has been on my trail since his death, it's logical to assume Jamerson told him everything he told me." He grimaced. "But Dawson didn't have the advantage of having Jonesy to help him, so he had to rely on my doing the work. That bloodsucking vampire would like that better anyway."

"You know him?"

"Oh yes, we had a run-in a few years ago. It wasn't a pleasant encounter for either of us, but I came out better than he did."

"What kind of run-in?"

"Nasty business. A British drug company had a manufacturing plant in Bolivia. It contaminated the groundwater and soil in several villages. Hundreds died. Dawson and his team descended on the area with a checkbook and enough firepower to change people's perceptions about what really happened. Suddenly it was announced that an abandoned pre-World War II cleaning-products factory was the culprit, and that long-forgotten underground waste-disposal tanks had ruptured."

"Long forgotten?"

"It's difficult to remember something that never existed in the first place. Local officials backed up the story. Anyone who didn't take the bribes was murdered."

Rachel shook her head. "And how did you get involved?"

"The United Nations was offering multimillion-dollar rewards for evidence of just this kind of corporate abuse. I got wind of it and decided it would be an interesting challenge."

"Naturally," she said sarcastically.

"I went down there and stayed alive long enough to get the evidence I needed. It cost the company billions. And for a long time it damaged Dawson's reputation as a corporate fix-it man. He was totally humiliated, and he's still having repercussions from it. He'd like nothing better than to see me dead."

"He can take a number." Rachel thought for a moment. "Mills Pharmaceuticals has never shown any interest in regenerative central nervous system research. It's just not their focus."

"Of course not. If Peseshet's cure works as well as I think it could, it will earn billions for the company that brings it to market. But Mills makes tens of billions every year with the medicines they sell now. Look at their portfolio: you'll find a range of analgesics and anticonvulsants, all designed to treat symptoms of nervous system damage. And their patients are customers for life, not just the few months it might take to administer a cure."

"You think Mills Pharmaceuticals wants the cure so they can bury it?"

"Yes, and to keep it out of anyone else's hands who could bury them. But don't take my word for it. Do the research. I think you'll come to the same conclusion." Tavak tossed back the rest of his wine. "And now I think I've given you enough to keep you content for a while. It's time you started making me happy."

"Are you crazy? I am not contented. You've told me practically zilch."

"It's all relative. You know more than you did when you came in here." He pushed back his chair and stood up. "And you did say you'd give me anything I want. Right now, I want you to call Norton and tell Nuri to go away and let me go back to my hotel. I was able to take photos of the mosaic of Peseshet and the hieroglyphics beside it. I sent it to my computer here in Cairo to be translated and possibly decoded if there was anything hidden in the script."

"That's a hell of a complicated program."

"That's what Jonesy thought when I asked him to develop it for me. I thought he'd never get the hang of it. But give him enough cycles… "

"You son of a bitch."

"Anyway, I'll let you come with me. I'm sure you'll be interested to see if Jonesy did what he was supposed to do."

" 'Let'?" He knew she wouldn't let him go and check that program without her. "Yes, I'm going." She stood up. "And I'm not telling Nuri to go away. He's going to follow us to the hotel and make sure that you don't try to slip away."

He nodded. "Smart move. I'm not above trying to regain my independence, but it won't be before I see that readout." He grabbed his backpack and headed for the door. "And actually we've been together so long I'm becoming attached to Nuri. Not that he wouldn't blow me away with that firepower he's carrying, but I believe he'd regret it for at least an hour or two."