All at once it was clear to Erica that the verb was “rest,” not “rule,” and the preposition was “under,” not “after.” She also realized she was looking at the original location of the two Seti statues. They had been standing across from each other in front of the masonry wall for three thousand years.

Suddenly Erica realized that she was standing at the unopened entrance to the burial chamber of the mighty Seti I. What she had found was not just a treasure trove, but an entire pharaonic tomb. The statue of Seti she had seen had been one of the guards of the burial chamber, like the bituminized statues found in Tutankhamen’s tomb. Seti I had not been buried in the tomb constructed in a pattern of the other New Kingdom pharaohs. It had been Nenephta’s final ruse. A substitute body had been buried in the tomb publicly proclaimed to be Seti’s, when in actuality Seti had been buried in a secret tomb below Tutankhamen. Nenephta had pleased both sides. He gave the professional thieves a tomb to rob, and his sovereign protection that no other pharaoh had been given Nenephta probably also believed that even if someone stumbled into Tutankhamen’s tomb, they would never imagine that it would serve as a shield for the mighty treasure below. He had understood “the ways of the greedy and unjust.”

Shaking the lamp to check the oil, Erica decided that she’d better begin the journey back. Reluctantly she turned and retraced her footsteps, continuing to marvel at Nenephta’s scheme. He had indeed been clever, but he’d also been arrogant. Leaving the papyrus in Tutankhamen’s tomb had been the weakest link in his elaborate plan. It had provided the clue for the equally clever Raman to solve the mystery. Erica wondered if the Arab had gone to the Great Pyramid as she had, and if he noticed that the chambers had been built one on top of the other, or if on visiting one of the tombs of the nobles he had found a tomb below it.

Walking up the narrow passage, Erica thought of the enormity of the discovery, and the huge stakes involved. No wonder there had been a murder. The thought brought Erica to a stop. She wondered just how many murders there had been. For more than fifty years the secret had to have been kept. The young man from Yale… All at once Erica began to question the association of the so-called Curse of the Pharaohs. Perhaps the people had been killed to protect the secret. What about Lord Carnarvon himself?…

Reaching the uppermost chamber, Erica paused to glance at the jewelry taken from the ivory chest. Although she had been scrupulously careful not to touch anything for fear of disturbing the archaeological aspects of the tomb, she felt comfortable touching something already disturbed. She picked up a pendant with a cartouche of Seti I rendered in solid gold. She wanted to have something in case Yvon and Ahmed refused to believe her story. So she took the pendant with her as she mounted the steps to the room filled with skeletons of the luckless ancient workers.

Climbing up into the tunnel was much easier than the descent. At the end she placed the oil lamp on the dirt and pulled herself into the crawl space under the concession stand. She had to decide the best way to return to Luxor. It was just past midnight, so the chances of running into Muhammad or the Nubian were much less. Her biggest worry was the government guard who worked under Muhammad. On the asphalt road into the valley she remembered seeing a gatehouse. Consequently she could not leave via the road, but would have to take the trail back to Qurna.

Manipulating the piece of sheet metal was difficult in the confined space. Erica had to slide it over the dirt and allow it to drop into its bed. Then, with the sardine can she’d seen earlier she began to scoop the loose dirt over the metal cover.

Nassif was several hundred feet away from the concession stand when he heard the clank of metal against stone. Immediately he pulled the rifle from his shoulder and dashed toward the partially open doorway to the lavatories. With the butt of the rifle he pushed the door completely open. Moonlight filtered into the small entryway.

Erica heard the door opening and smothered the oil lamp with her hand. She was about ten feet from the edge of the men’s room. Her eyes quickly adjusted to the dark, and she could see the doorway to the vestibule. Her heart began to pound as it had when Richard entered her hotel room.

While she watched, a dark silhouette slipped into the room. Even in the partial light Erica could recognize the rifle. A feeling of panic began to grip her as the man slowly moved directly toward her. He was hunched over, moving like a cat stalking its prey.

With no idea what the man could see, Erica hugged the ground. He appeared to be looking directly at her as he reached the wall of the urinal. Then he stopped, and for what seemed like hours he stood there intently staring. Finally he reached out and grabbed a handful of loose dirt. Cocking his arm, he tossed the dirt into the recess. Erica closed her eyes as a portion of it hit her. The man repeated the action. Some of the pebbles clanked against the still-exposed sheet metal.

Nassif stood up. “Harrah,” he muttered. He was angry because he did not even get to shoot a rat.

Erica felt a small amount of relief, but noticed the man did not move away. He stood there looking at her in the darkness with his rifle back on his shoulder. Erica was perplexed until she heard the trickle of urine.

There was enough moonlight reflecting from the sail of the felucca for Erica to see the time. It was after one. The passage across the Nile was so smooth that she could have dozed. Crossing the river was the last hurdle, and she allowed her body to relax. She was sure Luxor was safe. The excitement of her discovery had superseded the harrowing experience in the tomb, and it was her anticipation of revealing her find that kept her awake.

Looking back toward the West Bank, Erica felt pleased. She’d climbed from the Valley of the Kings, passed the sleeping village of Qurna, and crossed the cultivated fields to the banks of the Nile without any problems. A confrontation with some dogs had been solved by merely bending down to pick up a stone. She stretched her tired legs.

The boat heeled against a puff of wind, and Erica looked up at the graceful curve of the sail across the star-strewn sky. She was not sure who she’d enjoy telling her discovery to the most: Yvon, Ahmed, or Richard. Yvon and Ahmed would be the most appreciative, Richard would be the most surprised. Even her mother would for once be genuinely pleased: she would never again have to make excuses at the country club for her daughter’s career choice.

Back on the East Bank, she was pleased to find the lobby of the Winter Palace Hotel deserted. She had to call out at the desk to raise a clerk.

The sleepy Egyptian, although taken aback by her appearance, gave her a key and an envelope without saying a word. Erica started up the broad carpeted stairway while the clerk looked after her, wondering what she could have been doing to get so dirty. Erica glanced at the envelope. It was Winter Palace stationery, addressed to her in a bold, heavy hand. When she reached the corridor, she put her finger into the corner of the envelope, tearing it open while she navigated around the remnants of the hotel construction. At her door, she was about to insert the key when she unfolded the letter. It was a meaningless scribble. Looking at the outside of the envelope, Erica wondered if it were some kind of joke. If so, she did not understand it or appreciate it. It was like getting a phone call and hearing the person hang up without speaking. It was somehow unnerving.

Erica looked at her door. If there was one thing she’d learned during the trip, it was that hotels were not safe places. She remembered finding Ahmed in her room, Richard’s arrival, her room being searched. With a renewed sense of uncertainty she pushed her key into the door.