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  From above, a light beamed down, and Nikos said, “How does it look?”

  Pierce bent to examine the ground. He kept the rope around his waist—it would be good protection if he slipped. The surface was sandy, but not the thin film of eroded sand you expected to find in such crevices. It was yielding, thick, like a beach. He clawed at it with his fingers, and soon came to a lower layer that was harder packed, but still not rock. He broke a fingernail scraping. “Shovel,” he called.

  A few minutes later, he saw the shovel being lowered on another rope. It was a weird scene from his vantage point, standing at the bottom of two sloping rock walls illuminated by his own light and the light from above. The shovel came down, slowly spiraling on the rope, and it caught the light scattering it on the walls. He did not look out of the cleft at the sheer drop of the cliff below. As it was, there was barely room to stand. Shoveling would be difficult

  He put his foot to the blade and pressed gently, careful to maintain his balance. He scooped up sand and flung it down the cliff. Another scoop, then another. He gained confidence and began to work quickly. The hard-packed layer was thick; he went down a foot, and it showed no sign of ending. An hour passed. He dug a hole two and a half feet deep, and found he could not go on; his muscles ached from working in such an awkward position, his back pressed to the rock, unable to really bend I over.

  “It’s getting late,” Nikos called down.

  “All right. Pull me up.”

  He felt the rope tighten around his waist, and then his feet were lifted off the ground, and he was in the air again.

  The following night was better. They had fashioned makeshift miner’s hats from sun helmets and baling wire; the flashlights were held firmly in place, and it was easier to work.

  They dug in shifts, each man working for half an hour at a time in rotation. The hole widened and grew deeper. By 2:00 A.M., they had gone down nearly six feet. It was very difficult, now: space was even more restricted, and the sand had to be pitched up out of the hole.

  As he dug, Pierce remembered Barnaby’s words when they had reported the first night’s findings.

  “It’s promising, I think. Maybe you’re digging through the accumulated erosion of the centuries, but I wonder. There isn’t any reason for sand to collect in a niche like that, and even less reason for it to be firmly packed—the climate is too dry. You may be on to something.”

  He dug.

  He tried to keep a rhythm. It helped him forget the protests of his muscles. He hummed “Dixie” to himself, until Conway leaned down from above and shouted, “Cut that out!” and laughed. He switched to “Waltzing Matilda.”

  His light began to fail. He rapped it sharply, and it flickered more brightly. He continued to dig, hearing only the soft hish as the blade bit into the sand.

  “Half an hour,” Nikos called down.

  Pierce looked at his watch. This was his last chance for the evening to dig, and he felt he still had something left. “Five more minutes.”

  He resumed digging. As he worked, he began to feel a strange sense of foreboding, something he could not define, but it was an anticipation, as if an extra sense were telling him something was about to happen.

  The shovel cut into the sand, alternating with his grunts as he flung the earth out of the pit.

  Clunk! He stopped cold, then pressed down again on the shovel.

  Clunk!

  “That’s five minutes,” Nikos said.

  “I’ve hit something.”

  From above, two lights shone down immediately. There was a moment when Pierce looked up, trying to see behind the two hot circles of light.

  Nikos said, “What is it?”

  “I don’t know. Something hard. I’m down about seven feet.”

  “Well,” Conway said, “what’re you waiting for?”

  Pierce bent and scraped the bottom with his shovel. The harsh grating sound was loud in his ears. He worked patiently, exposing a flat surface of rock—too flat to be natural. His heart began to pound in his chest. He brushed the rock with his bruised, aching fingers, whisking away the sand.

  A bare, smooth surface. He could see faint chisel marks on it.

  He began to dig again, frantically now, not caring if the sand came back down on him, working like a madman, uncovering the limits of the stone slab. It did not take long.

  It was rectangular and narrow. He started to dig around it, exposing a distinct lip, a perpendicular surface, and then another flat slab.

  Steps.

  “What is it?” Nikos called.

  “A staircase,” Pierce said softly.

  “What?”

  He felt suddenly exhausted, drained of every ounce of energy. “Bring me up,” he said. He was lifted, and it seemed to him he was being transported into a dreamworld, a fantastic existence that he could not dare imagine.

  PART III: The Last Tomb

  “…and the idols of Egypt shall be moved….”

  —Isaiah 19:1

  1. The Steps

  “REMARKABLE!” BARNABY SAID THE next morning. “I must see it—tonight, I will go with you. Remarkable! Absolutely remarkable!”

  “I’d rather not be left alone,” Lisa said. Although the camp was jubilant, Pierce noticed that she seemed more quiet than usual.

  “Something wrong?” he asked.

  “No, I just don’t want to be alone in the camp.”

  That wasn’t what Pierce had meant, and she knew it. “Alan will stay with you tonight.”

  “You must tell me all about it!” Barnaby said. “Everything, from the beginning. How do the steps lie?”

  “Like this,” Pierce said, sketching quickly on a sheet of paper. “The cleft runs down vertically to this short platform. We dug through seven feet of sand before we struck the first step; Alan and Nikos uncovered five more. They seem to be about six inches high.”

  “How are they oriented?” Barnaby asked, not taking his eyes from the drawing.

  “Sideways,” Nikos said. He drew them in running at an angle to the cliff face.

  “They’re directed north, then,” Barnaby said. “That’s good—very, very good. Oh, I must see it.”

  “So well excuse me,” said a voice.

  Everyone turned.

  It was Hamid Iskander, standing at the entrance to the tent.

  “Are you disturbed?” he asked, bowing slightly. “I am hoping no?”

  Pierce worked to keep the surprise off his face, to control his features, but he was powerless to speak. How long had that man been out there? What had he heard?

  Fortunately for them all, Nikos reacted smoothly. “You are just in time,” he said. “We are playing with an interesting puzzle. Perhaps you would like to try. Normally, it is done with toothpicks, but we have only Miss Barrett’s hairpins.” Pierce looked over and saw that there were a half dozen hairpins on the table. He had not noticed them before.

  Iskander smiled at Lisa. “Very beautiful.”

  “Now watch carefully,” Nikos said. He took the sheet of paper, turned it over, and drew a spot. Then, he arranged four hairpins around it. “The object is to move only two hairpins to surround the spot. Do you wish to try?”

  “I try, yes.” Iskander grinned and bent over the paper. He fiddled with the pins for a moment, then began to frown. Finally, he did it, and straightened.

  “Ah,” Nikos said, wagging a finger at him. “But you moved three pins. Only two pins are allowed.”

  “Yes? Two?”

  Hamid tried again. They all watched him, and Pierce felt his own shock draining away. The Arab did not suspect anything; he had accepted Nikos’ puzzle.

  “I am not possible,” he said, finally.

  Nikos quickly showed him how it was done. Hamid laughed when he saw and clapped his hands delightedly.

  “Well, back to work,” Barnaby said. They all went outside into the sun. “Any news from Cairo?”

  “Yes,” Iskander said. “News.”

  He said nothing more.
r />   “What news?”

  “The pictures are nice. Cairo says yes.”

  “Good, good,” Barnaby said. “Anything else?”

  “Yes? The translations are nice.” He stuck his hands in his pockets and walked with Barnaby.

  “That’s good. How have you been since we saw you last?”

  “Nice.” He smiled. “And the peoples here?”

  “Can’t complain. There was a touch of dysentery a few days ago, but that’s all cleared up. We’re getting tired, though. I think we may take a few days off and go into Luxor to relax and sleep in a hotel for a while.”

  “But the Lord Grover comes.”

  “Really? I haven’t received any word.”

  “Cairo says yes.”

  “Well then, we will wait for him. Let me show you where we’re working at the moment. It’s the tomb of Puimre, the priest, and we’ve discovered some quite interesting things.”

  “How long is he going to be here?” Nikos growled.

  “As long as he wants,” Pierce said. “There’s nothing we can do about it.”

  “If he snoops around any more, I will break his nose.”

  “Why his nose?”

  “As a service. In this country, a man who cannot smell is blessed.” He laughed, but the tension behind the threat remained.

  Pierce found Lisa in her tent, reading. He sat down next to her cot and said, “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You don’t seem pleased.”

  “Should I be?”

  “I think so. We’re on the point of a marvelous discovery.”

  She shook her head. “You’re on the point of beginning a life where you must look constantly over your shoulder, afraid and worried.”

  “Not me,” Pierce said, laughing.

  “How long do you think Hamid will stay?” She seemed almost hopeful; it irritated him.

  “Not long. He says Grover is coming back.”

  “I shouldn’t be surprised,” she said, putting her book aside, “He’ll be getting curious about us soon.” She looked at him steadily for some moments, then said, “Do you really want to go through with this? Rob the tomb?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  She picked up her book again and read, as if to dismiss him.

  “Listen,” he said, “this thing is foolproof. There isn’t the slightest chance we can be caught or that—”

  “Robert, please.”

  “All right,” he said, getting up. “All right.”

  He walked out of the tent and felt the sun burning his face. He put on his sunglasses and looked around the camp—at the Land Rover beneath its awning, the supply tent, the other tents ranged around the base of the reddish cliffs. Off to the right Barnaby and Hamid were walking down from the tombs in the hills; Barnaby was talking animatedly, hands moving, and Iskander nodded his head.

  Pierce turned away and began walking. He left the camp and struck out for a small cluster of native houses a quarter of a mile away. It was miserably hot, and he moved slowly; the outlines of the mud huts shimmered before his eyes. He saw nobody around—it might have been deserted. He climbed to a rise where he could look down on the houses, which were built roughly square, each with a small courtyard or enclosure behind. Here the animals were kept—the chickens, the donkeys, an occasional dog with a taut-ribbed belly. The camels were kept outside. They were too large for the enclosure.

  Near one hut was a baby camel sitting on the sand next to its mother. The baby imitated the parent, raising its head in a slow, dignified way to look over at Pierce and then away. Soon after, the baby got up on spindly, unsteady legs and wobbled over to a pile of dried straw, then sat down again.

  It was very quiet where Pierce stood, overlooking the village. Once a young boy walked out into one enclosure, then returned to the house, pushing aside the dirty striped rag that served as a door. Once a dog barked, and the chickens clucked in reply. Otherwise, it was silent.

  On the far hill, Pierce saw a figure approaching. It was several minutes before he could discern the shape of a woman in black balancing a water jug on her head. She walked smoothly, the natural undulating movements of her body exaggerated and distorted by the heat. He watched as she neared the village, conscious of the silence around him, the unnatural stillness. She was like a black ghost drifting forward, coming from nowhere with no past, no connection to reality.

  The woman entered a house and left the jug outside the door. Pierce waited a long time for her to come out and retrieve it, but she did not reappear.

  “God damn it, Robert! Good to see you!” Lord Grover extended a beefy hand. “I understand you’ve made marvelous progress.”

  “I hope so.”

  “Indeed, indeed. Though I confess I don’t see how you’ve stood it. These flies—Christ, they’re awful. Never leave you alone. The buzzing is enough to drive a man mad.” Lord Grover whisked his face impatiently.

  A girl came out of Grover’s tent, a startling thing with flame-red hair that glowed in the sun. She wore tight khaki trousers and a leopardskin blouse. She had high black leather boots.

  “Ah, Sylvia,” Grover said. “Do come over and say hello.”

  He grinned at Pierce: “I met Sylvia in Beirut. She was formerly attached to the German consulate there—or rather, to the vice-consul. She’s a firm attacher, Sylvia. Beautifully tight.”

  The girl sauntered over, swinging her hips.

  “Sylvia, meet Robert Pierce. He’s the photographer of the expedition.”

  “How nice.” She breathed deeply, throwing forward her chest. Pierce thought he saw her eyes flick downward to make sure they were properly displayed.

  “Will you be with us long?” Pierce asked. He knew she would not. Once her makeup began to melt, she’d leave.

  “I am not sure,” Sylvia said. She put one hand on her hip and looked at Lord Grover. “I thought it would be jungle.”

  “What?”

  “Jungle. I expected jungle. This is desert.”

  “That’s right. We decided that it was better for the health.”

  “I expected jungle.”

  Grover smiled pleasantly. “You must be tired from the journey. Why don’t you rest now?”

  “Yes,” she said. She turned and strutted back to the tent.

  “Not my type,” Pierce said, watching her go.

  “Sorry about that,” Grover said, “but I assure you she’s mine. A little change of pace—just what I need for my heart condition.”

  “How is your heart these days?”

  “The doctors tell me there is nothing wrong with it. Fortunately, I know better. In its old age, it is like a finely tuned engine, requiring expensive, exotic, high-octane fuel. Improves the compression ratio,” he added, watching Sylvia bend to enter the tent. “Now what about the tomb?”

  “Later,” Pierce said, looking around. “Hamid is in camp.”

  “Was. He left half an hour ago. Apparently he is not planning to rejoin us. Now tell me about the tomb.”

  “I’ll do better than that,” Pierce said. “I’ll show you.”

  They stood around the cleft. Pierce shined his flashlight down, lighting the pit. The steps appeared as parallel white bars.

  “That’s it,” Pierce said. He looked around at the other faces in the darkness, saw their white breath. Barnaby and Grover were still panting from the climb up the cliff. Conway had remained back in the camp with the girls.

  “How did you ever dig down there?” Barnaby asked, amazed.

  “How did you ever get down there?” Grover asked.

  “The hard way,” Nikos said. He took the rope and knotted it around Barnaby’s waist.

  “You must be joking,” Barnaby said, looking down the cleft.

  Pierce shook his head and handed Barnaby the hat with the clip for the flashlight.

  “I had no idea, really—”

  “Don’t worry,” Nikos said. “You push
off the wall with your feet. There is nothing to it.”

  “Well—”

  Then, he groaned, the sound of a trapped animal. He stepped to the edge and lowered himself over. Holding on to the lip with his hands, he looked up at them. “You’re sure?”

  “Piece of cake,” Grover said.

  Barnaby went down. He was clumsy at first, banging against the rock with his shoulder and hip, grunting and swearing. Then he began to catch on and stiffened his legs, holding himself away from the wall. As he gained confidence, they lowered him more rapidly.

  On the bottom, he began to untie the rope.

  Pierce leaned over and said, “Leave it on.”

  Barnaby looked up uncertainly, then bent to the steps. There was a peculiarly professional quality about the way he did it; the way a doctor bends over an X-ray or a lawyer to examine a piece of evidence—the whole body reflected the interest and absorption.

  Above, they waited tensely for his conclusion.

  “Do you think this is really it?” Grover asked Pierce.

  “I’d put money on it.”

  “His own money,” Nikos said, laughing.

  “Tools,” Barnaby called. There was a strange tightness in his voice.

  They clipped a small basket of tools onto a rope and lowered it over the side—a small shovel, a trowel, a whisk broom. Barnaby took the tools and worked several minutes in silence.

  Grover took out a cigarette and was about to light it, when Pierce stopped his arm: “What kind of cigarette is that?”

  “Benson and Hedges, of course.”

  “Not here. Have one of these.” He held out a crumpled pack with Arabic writing.

  “What are these?” Grover said, sniffing the pack.

  “‘Cairo’ cigarettes, of course.”

  “Worried about stubs?”

  “Just careful,” Nikos said.

  “I like that,” Grover said. He shook out a cigarette and lit it, blowing a thoughtful stream of smoke upward. He shuddered. “Delightful.”

  “It grows on you,” Pierce said.

  “Bring me up,” Barnaby called. Pierce and Nikos hauled on the rope.

  “If this is really the tomb,” Grover said, “how do you suppose the buggers ever built it in the first place?”