Yvon was sitting rubbing his temples. “Am I always destined to come so close, only to see success slip through my fingers?” He turned to Khalifa. “And what has the mighty Khalifa learned?”
“There was no one at the Curio Antique Shop. The other shops were still open and there were plenty of tourists. Apparently the shop had closed right after Erica left. The proprietor’s name is Lahib Zayed, and no one seemed to know where he’d gone. And I was quite insistent.” Khalifa smiled.
“I want the Curio Antique Shop and the Winter Palace watched. I don’t care if you both have to stay up all night.”
When Yvon was alone, he walked out onto the balcony. The night was peaceful and soft. The sound from the piano in the dining room drifted up through the palms. Nervously he began pacing the small terrace.
Erica ended in a sitting position at the bottom of the stairs, with one leg tucked under her. Her hands were badly scraped, but otherwise she was unhurt. Most of the contents of her tote bag had fallen out. She tried to look around in the Stygian darkness, but she could not even see her hand directly in front of her face. Like a blind person, she groped in her bag for the flashlight. It was not there.
Struggling to her hands and knees, she felt along the paving stone. She found her camera, which seemed intact, then her guidebook, but still no flashlight. Her hand hit a wall, and she recoiled in fear. Every phobia she’d ever had about snakes, scorpions, and spiders emerged to frighten her. The image of the cobra at Abydos plagued her. Groping back along the wall until she found the corner, she felt her way back to the stairway and found the pack of cigarettes. The book of matches was pushed beneath the cellophane cover.
She struck a match and held it away from her. She was in a room about ten feet square, with two doorways, plus the stairway behind her. The walls were plastered with painted scenes of everyday life in ancient Egypt. She was in one of the tombs of the nobles.
Against the far wall Erica caught a glimpse of her flashlight before the match singed the tips of her fingers. She lit another, and in its hesitant light walked over to retrieve the flashlight. The front glass had broken, but the bulb was still in place. Erica pressed the switch and it leaped to life.
Without allowing herself time to think about her situation, she returned to the stairs, climbed to the top, and ran the beam of the flashlight around the perimeter of the portcullis. The granite plug fit into its slot with incredible precision. She pushed against it. It was cold and motionless, like the mountain itself.
Returning to the base of the stairs, she began to explore the tomb. The two doorways from the antechamber led into a burial chamber on the left and a storeroom on the right. She entered the burial chamber first. Except for a rough-hewn sarcophagus, the room was empty. The ceiling was painted dark blue with hundreds of gold five-pointed stars, and the walls were decorated with scenes from the Book of the Dead. From the back wall Erica could read whose tomb she was in. Ahmose, scribe and vizier to Pharaoh Amenhotep III.
Moving her light about the sarcophagus, Erica saw a skull lying amid rags on the floor. Hesitantly she moved closer. The eye sockets were darkened pits and the lower jaw had separated, giving the mouth an expression of continued agony. All the teeth were in place. It was not that old.
Standing over the skull, Erica realized that she was looking at the remains of a whole corpse. The body had been curled up beside the sarcophagus, as if in sleep. Ribs and vertebrae could be seen through the decaying clothing. Just under the skull Erica saw a flash of gold. Falteringly she reached down and lifted the object. It was a 1975 Yale ring. Gingerly Erica replaced it and stood up.
“Let’s see the next room,” she said out loud, hoping the sound of her voice would reassure her. She did not want to think, not yet, and as long as there were places to explore, she could keep her mind from the reality of the situation. Acting like a tourist, she passed into the next and last chamber. It was the same size as the burial chamber, and completely empty save for a few rocks and a little sand. The decorations were of everyday life, as in the antechamber, but they were unfinished. The wall to the right had been prepared for a large harvest scene, and the figures were drawn in red ocher. There was a broad band of white plaster, prepared for hieroglyphics, running along the bottom. After shining her light around the room, Erica returned to the antechamber. She was running out of things to do, and a cold fear threatened to surface. She began to pick up the rest of her things from the floor and replace them in the tote bag. Thinking she might have probably missed something, she climbed the long flight of stairs to the granite plug. An overwhelming sense of claustrophobia swept over her, and vainly trying to control her emotions, she pushed at the stone with both hands.
“Help!” she shouted at the top of her lungs. The sound reverberated against the rock faces and echoed within the depths of the tomb. Then the silence closed in on her again, smothering her with its absolute stillness. She felt as if she needed air. Her breathing became labored. She slapped the granite plug with an open palm, harder and harder, until she could feel pain. Tears welled up and overflowed her eyes, and she continued to pound the stone, sobs racking her body.
The exertion exhausted her, and she slowly sank to her knees, still crying uncontrollably. All her fears of death and abandonment rose from the recesses of her mind, causing renewed spells of sobbing and shaking. She had suddenly realized that she was buried alive!
Having faced the grim reality of her situation, Erica began to recover a modicum of rational thought. She picked up the flashlight and descended the long flight of stone steps to the antechamber. She wondered when Yvon would begin to worry that something might have happened. Once he became suspicious, he would probably go to the Curio Antique Shop, but did Lahib Zayed know where she was? Would her taxi driver ever think of reporting that he had taken an American girl to Qurna, who had failed to return? Erica had no answers to these questions, but the mere asking of them revived a glimmer of hope that supported her until her flashlight perceptibly dimmed.
She switched it off and rummaged through her bag until she found three books of matches. It wasn’t much, but while looking for the matches she came across a felt-tip pen. Touching the pen gave her an idea. She could leave some sort of message on the wall of the unfinished chamber, explaining what had happened to her. She could write it in form of hieroglyphics so that her captors would probably not recognize its significance. She did not delude herself into believing that such an act would have any value short of giving her mind something to do. But that was something. Fear had given way to despair and bitter regret. Doing something would at least distract her.
With the flashlight propped up with several rocks, Erica began to space out her message. The simpler the better, she thought. Once the spacing was accomplished, she began to outline the figures. She was about halfway through when the flashlight suddenly dimmed markedly. It came back on again, but only for a moment. Then it dimmed to a red ember.
Once again Erica refused to contemplate her plight. She struck matches to continue the hieroglyphic text. She was crouching down at the base of the wall on the right, the text running in columns from the floor to the bottom of the unfinished harvest scene. She still suffered intermittent bouts of tears as she admitted to herself that her cleverness had been just enough to get her into inescapable trouble. Everyone had warned her about the involvement, and she had listened to no one. She’d been a fool. Training in Egyptology had not equipped her to deal with criminals, especially someone like Muhammad Abdulal.