"But you pour a hell of a lot more into your research foundation, don't you?"

"Of course, I do." She stared him in the eye. "But I also give a tremendous amount of time to other research projects. I've never cheated any of them of computer time they might need. What's your point?"

"My point is that you cut my time. I want it back."

"I'm having a few technical problems. You'll get it back when I solve them."

"I think your technical problems are bullshit," he said bluntly. "I believe you're getting desperate. Most GLD victims don't even reach the age of two. Even with late-onset cases like your sister's, it's rare for victims to reach adulthood. You know your sister is running out of time. Are you giving my computing cycles to that damn medical foundation?"

"Heaven forbid I try to save lives instead of letting you have it," she said bitterly.

"How do you know I'm not doing something a thousand times more important than your foundation? The chances of your sister surviving are practically nil, but you won't admit it. You're a fanatic. Well, I deal with fanatics all the time. I'm not letting you get in my way. I need that processing power."

"Then steal it from the FBI's computers." She stood up. "But I don't think you want to do that. You found Jonesy and me because whatever you're doing is shady as hell. I don't know if it's agency business or personal, but you don't want anyone to be able to tap into it. Perhaps I should make inquiries in your Washington office exactly why you want this computer time to be off the radar."

"You'd find it labeled TOP SECRET and CONFIDENTIAL. Don't threaten me," Norton said. "I'll give you three days. After that, I'm coming after you. You don't want that. It could get nasty."

"I'll give you your time back when I iron out my problems. You guessed wrong, Norton. The problem is purely technical."

"I mean what I say."

"I'm sure you do." She headed for the bathroom. Lord, she didn't need this now. Norton was obviously dead serious and out for blood. "But I'm not cutting any medical research time for you."

"Three days," he said, as she closed the door behind her.

So much for his concern for her brush with death, she thought wryly. Norton had only hurried here to get her to reinstate his time with threats and possible blackmail. She felt a surge of anger but quickly suppressed it. She couldn't afford being pissed off at Norton. It would take effort, and she had to keep all her strength and effort focused on the goal. She would give Norton what he wanted just to keep him off her back as soon as she fixed the leak. She couldn't let a battle with him get in the way now. He was right, Allie was too close to the end.

Fear tightened the muscles of her stomach. Don't think of Allie right now. She had to concentrate on the leak Simon had found in the relay in Galveston.

For God's sake, Egypt.

THREE

"I'm going to die, aren't I?" Ben whispered.

"Hell, no. We still have air, and that means that we can survive. I managed to clear some of those rocks away, and it looks like the rest of the tomb may be fairly clear." Tavak stared down at Ben's bruised and bloody torso. Damn. "I just don't want to move you just yet."

"I don't think there's—" Ben's words drifted off as he lost consciousness.

Shit.

Tavak checked his vital signs. Ben's heartbeat was fainter than it had been just a few minutes before. He had to get him out of here before long, or he could die. How? He'd have to go it alone and come back for Ben. But even if he made it through the rubble, he'd still be a sitting duck when he reached the entrance to the tomb.

He leaned back against the wall, his gaze resting on the woman in the mural on the far wall.

Peseshet.

She looked powerful, serene, and uncaring that she'd drawn him into this hellhole of a tomb. "You're right, it's not your fault," he murmured. "I got my ass into this, and it's up to me to get my ass out of it."

If he was careful, and lucky, he'd be able to make it to the surface. But once on the outside of the tomb, he'd need someone to run interference. Who could he trust that could get here fast enough?

No one.

All right, then who was clever and determined enough to jump over the obstacles and make it happen anyway? Think, dammit.

A name jumped into his mind. He rejected it instantly, then he stopped and began to think.

Possibly.

If he could furnish motivation, and he thought he could.

Yes.

He reached in his backpack for his computer and flipped it open. "Okay, Peseshet, let's go for it… "

* * *

Rachel and Simon were halfway to the lab in Galveston, and she had just begun to check the network links binding Jonesy to the relay in Galveston when she heard the tonal signal that she had e-mail.

Dammit. She didn't want to get out of the program now.

"Are you going to answer it?" Simon asked.

"Of course, I'll at least see who it is. Allie sometimes e-mails me." She saved the program and went into e-mail. Three old messages from Norton, one from Val, and the latest one from a John Tavak.

"Who the hell is—" She stiffened. "Holy smoke, this message didn't come directly to this laptop. It was transferred from Jonesy."

"What?"

"You heard me. It was transferred from Jonesy's closed network."

"How?"

"I don't know how. It should be impossible. But I'm going to find out, dammit." She clicked open the document.

Hello, Rachel Kirby, I do hope you don't blow this message away. I don't think you will since I took the precaution of sending it through your beloved computer. Curiosity alone should make you read it. I'm writing this from a Fourth Dynasty tomb in Saqqara, and I'm not in the best situation that—

"Saqqara… " Her shocked gaze flew to Simon's face. "Egypt. Simon, it's from Egypt."

"I'll be damned," Simon murmured.

"You're not the one who should be damned," Rachel said through set teeth. "This has to be the bastard who has been tapping Jonesy."

"Why would he decide to contact us now and let us know who he was?"

That was what Rachel was wondering. Her gaze shifted back to the monitor.

By now you're trying to guess why I'm blowing my cover. The reason is pure self-preservation. I'm in something of a fix and I had a talk with Peseshet and she suggested that you were the answer to saving my neck. Not that you' d probably want to do it. And since Peseshet has been dead for over four thousand years, she may be considerably out of touch. But since I've been thinking of the two of you as mirror images of each other, I thought I'd give it a shot.

There's not much time. I have a wounded friend and partner who may die if I don't get him out of this tomb. Unfortunately, once we reach the surface, there will probably be a few scumbags waiting who will want to kill us both. Not a good choice.

Good riddance, you're thinking. I can't blame you. So I thought I'd better throw something out that would pique your interest.

Peseshet.

Look her up. You won't find much but she'll intrigue you. She was the overseer of a staff of female physicians in the time of the pyramids. Her son's tomb is in the Louvre in Paris. She was totally brilliant, but not much was known about her.

But I know a good deal about her, and I'm going to know everything before I'm done. The tidbit that might interest you is that she claims to have found a way to regenerate damaged cells of the central nervous system. It wasn't high on her list. She seems to have been more interested in other cures. Cancer and heart disease were her main focus, but she had more opportunity to experiment on the injured laborers who were building the pyramids. After six years she stated that she' d had almost total success. Her cures were always inscribed on tablets, and presumably could still be in existence. In fact, I've enclosed a portion of the cure that Peseshet created at the end of this message. Only a portion because that was all she teased us with. But it may be enough to excite you. Check it out. But at supersonic speed, please, because I don't have much time.