Krewe of Hunters 7 The Unspoken (14 page)

“I’ve got to meet Will and we have to get moving, Bastet. The day is almost gone.”

The animal meowed pitifully when Kat was about to leave. Stroking Bastet, she placed her on the bed. “I’m so sorry,” she murmured. “But you have to stay here.”

She met Will in the hall.

“I reported in to Logan,” he said. “Tyler is at Austin Miller’s. He’s keeping an eye on things, plus he did a cursory search of the house and yard. I told Logan about the image you ‘saw’ at the ship and he’s going to send Jane out to the house so she can sketch it for you.”

“Good idea,” Kat agreed.

She looked around as they drove. Chicago was truly one of the great American cities. The lake, a constant presence, glittered in the bright sun. Heading along South Lake Shore Drive, she could see Grant Park and the Buckingham Fountain, the Shedd Aquarium and the Field Museum ahead of them in the distance.

“I’m just wondering,” she said to Will, “do you think we should focus on Austin Miller’s house—or on the Egyptian Sand Diggers?”

“I think we’ll find more of what we’re looking for at Austin’s house,” Will said. “Your team is investigating the Sand Diggers. But the two people who can help us the most with the ship are Austin Miller—well, not Austin himself but the journals in his home—and Dirk Manning. You heard what Manning said—he and Austin Miller were
the rock-solid foundation of the society.”

“And if Dirk’s pain at losing his old friend was faked, I’m turning in my badge and giving up on this,” Kat said. “I don’t believe Dirk Manning is guilty of anything. And Austin Miller is dead.”

“We’re back to the salvage divers, then,” Will muttered. “And after what you heard Amanda say on the phone, I think she’s somehow involved.”

“But how?”

“I don’t know.”

“Obviously, Agent Chan, I’m just musing aloud,” she told him.

When they reached the estate, there weren’t any patrol cars in evidence, but Kat reasoned that Tyler Montague must have rented the Honda that sat on the embankment. The house itself—the circumference of the wall—was wrapped in tape with regularly posted warnings not to enter.

Kat hit the buzzer; a minute later, she heard Tyler’s voice. “Agent Montague. What’s your business here?”

“It’s Kat and Will,” she said. “We’ve got Dirk Manning’s key. Just letting you know we’ve arrived.”

“Enter into the museum!” Tyler told them grandly.

He met them at the door. Kat had known Tyler a long time; like Logan, he’d been a Texas Ranger before joining the Krewe, and they’d worked a few cases together when she was a pathologist with the city of San Antonio.

She was very fond of him. In appearance, he might be the toughest-looking member of the Texas Krewe. He was tall and well-muscled and his passion was martial arts. He and Logan had been close friends through harrowing times.

“Glad you’re here,” he said, shaking hands with Will, then hugging Kat. “The house is enormous but I knew you’d be coming after the dive and I figured I’d let the others continue with the research and alibis. But I’ve been here awhile and, so far, I’ve only gone through the parlor and the guest rooms. I’m assuming that what we’re going to discover is either in Miller’s office—his den—or his bedroom, but this entire place is like a museum.” He raised his eyebrows. “If we
are
going to discover anything helpful.”

“We’ll know when we discover it,” Will said. He looked at Kat. “Bedroom or office?”

“Office.”

“I’ll finish the guest rooms, then,” Tyler said.

He and Will headed up the stairs, while Kat went across to the office. She made a point of leaving the door open. Maybe Will should have done this room, since he seemed to love all things Egyptian. But she couldn’t forget the way she’d found the elderly man. He had loved his den. If there was something to find, it might well be here.

“Where to start?” she said aloud. She pulled open the desk’s bottom left drawer and took out an orderly stack of journals. The top one was the most recent. She began to leaf through it.

Despite herself, she quickly became fascinated. He had a clear, easy way of writing that engaged her in the subject. He’d been writing to enhance his own scholarship—and for his own pleasure. She studied the charts he’d made and understood that each Kingdom or period had a number of dynasties. Strange, but until the past few days, she’d thought of ancient Egypt as one phase of history, not realizing that the pyramids had existed for millennia by the time Ramses II lived and died, and the boy king, Tut, was buried in the Valley of the Kings. Austin Miller’s notes were clear and precise…and interesting.

The last page of the last journal was about the party being thrown to entice scientists and divers to search for the
Jerry McGuen.

“It’s time,” he wrote, “truly time, for that the ship to come to the surface, to disprove the concept that any talisman could bring about a curse. Or that a priest, any priest of any religion of any era, could rule the heavens or the earth. This is so much nonsense. Priests and rulers have always governed through fear. When a master manipulator can control the human mind by using terror and make that terror widespread, he must be stopped. Recovering the ship will allow us to show the world that fear and terror is all a matter of perception. That whatever Amun Mopat may have carved on his tomb is irrelevant. Our problem is that salvage divers know the gain will be the state’s, so we’ll let them see what fortune may come to those who seek!”

She read the words in silence, and wondered what “talisman” he was talking about.

“Mr. Miller,” she murmured softly, “don’t you know that because of the movies, there’s no such thing as a tomb that
doesn’t
come with a curse?”

She set the journal down. There was one lower in the stack that didn’t align with the others; it was a different type of journal, far older. She opened it curiously. The handwriting was different, and she saw that this journal had been written in 1898.

Holding it, she felt her heart leap. The
Jerry McGuen
had gone down in 1898 with her Egyptian treasures, years before Howard Carter had discovered King Tut’s tomb.

The name in the book, however, was also Austin Miller. He had to have been this Austin Miller’s grandfather.

The older Miller’s writing was as engaging as that of his grandson. He spoke about being in the desert, crawling through sand, finding tomb after tomb that had been raided and looted. He wrote about the day one of their diggers had fallen into a hole. The hole had proven to lead to a shaft, and they’d followed it and found the tomb.

At first, none of the men on the dig had been particularly excited. They’d wanted to find the tomb of a pharaoh, and they’d merely uncovered the tomb of a priest. But as they went through that tomb, the hieroglyphics told of a powerful man who had held others—even the pharaoh—in his grip. He was a magician, who could make mist and rain, force love when there was none and tell a pharaoh of victories to come, or when an enemy might attack.

Once the work of removing the precious treasures began, they’d begun to know what they had. Gregory Hudson, the wealthy fur trader from Chicago who’d financed the dig and loved the country of Egypt, its present and its past, was “well pleased,” as Austin said, with their discovery.

Kat sat back, engrossed in the story. She heard the clock tolling the hours, but ignored it. This Austin Miller’s journal read like an adventure story.

He went on about the months of exploration, and how Gregory Hudson, with his beautiful young bride, had chartered the
Jerry McGuen
to bring them home, along with some of his men and his treasures.

Austin Miller—grandfather Austin Miller—hadn’t traveled with him because he’d had to leave Egypt earlier, before their find could be cataloged and wrapped and crated.

And then, just before her arrival, the
Jerry McGuen
had gone down, and she and sixty souls and the treasure had all been lost.

“It made me remember what we saw on the wall of the tomb. Our interpreter was appalled by what he read when we first saw it. In fact, he left without his pay and did not return. But he did tell us that it warned that death and despair would fall upon those who disrupted Amun Mopat’s final rest, for he was a god and wielded the scepter of a god. No matter where his remains might lie and in what condition, he would wield that scepter. I could not help but believe that Gregory, his poor, beautiful bride and all the others suffered and died because we should have let the dead rest.”

Startled, Kat heard the clock chime again. She glanced up, an eerie feeling creeping down her spine.

The doors to the patio were no longer open; she was in the house with two fellow agents and no one else. There was no reason to have such a feeling, except…

She saw an elderly man standing before her. Tall and erect, clean-shaven with snow-white hair. His eyes were sad and his cheeks sagged heavily.

She knew that face; she had come to know the face and form of Austin Miller as he’d lain on the autopsy table.

“You see me, my dear?” he whispered, and his words were both hopeful and pained.

No matter how many times she’d seen the dead, it was always a shock.

She had so wanted to see this man. To speak with him…

“Yes,” she said, her voice tremulous.

“It was no accident. Please, do not let it go as an accident!”

“No, sir, I will not,” she told him.

“You’ll see that justice is done?”

“Yes.” She stared at him. “But we need your help, sir. We believe that someone came upon you, terrified you—and knocked your arm when you reached for your pills. Can you tell me who did it?”

He nodded solemnly.

“Who?”

“The mummy,” he said. “The mummy came to me and killed me.”

* * *

“Anything?” Will asked, looking up as Tyler came to stand in the bedroom doorway.

Tyler shook his head. “The guest rooms are neat, tidy and dust-free. They’re filled with paintings, statues and knickknacks, most of them relating to Egyptology, and some of them to the history of Chicago. There’s not a single piece of clothing and there’s not a scrap of paper with any notes. I’ve opened every jar and looked in every vase and…not a thing.”

“What did you find when you searched the property?” Will asked.

“Nothing, but I noted the same small disturbance in the grass that you did—near the section of wall where you found the scrap of gauze and the broken statue. I’d definitely agree that someone crawled over the wall and came at Miller from his patio doors. Anything in here?”

“Too much. Notes about doctors’ appointments, notes about meetings to be held at the house and a ‘note to self: pressure Chicago Ancient History Preservation Center.’ Obviously, they didn’t need to pressure them a lot. Brady Laurie was so excited that he made the most foolish mistake any diver can make—diving alone. Maybe he and Dr. Channel had the same personality trait—no faith in anyone else. Speaking of Amanda, Kat heard her talking on the phone today, telling someone that she’d ‘find it,’ or words to that effect. She told Kat she was talking about a CD, but she’s an iffy character, to say the least.”

“Logan has our Krewe looking up backgrounds on everyone involved, so if there’s something we should know about her, we should know it soon,” Tyler said. “How can I help you in here?”

“Take the dresser,” Will suggested.

As Tyler walked toward it, Will’s cell phone rang. He answered it immediately. “Chan.”

“Will, it’s Logan.”

“We’re still at Austin Miller’s house,” Will told him.

“Yes, I figured as much.” He paused for a long moment. “I have some strange information for you. That material you found—on the wall at the hotel and then at Miller’s house.”

“The gauzy stuff that looks like mummy wrapping.”

“I sent it to an expert in D.C. early this morning. He got right on it, and called me a few minutes ago.”

“What is it? A prop from a movie set?”

“No. It’s the real thing.”

“What do you mean?”

“According to the carbon dating, that wrapping is Egyptian. He estimates it to have been used in the New Kingdom—and it’s possibly from the reign of Ramses II.”

“What?”

“It’s real, Will. At one time, that wrapping covered a real mummy.”

9

W
ill agreed with Logan, who’d decided he’d have Jane return to the hotel, ready to sketch, and that he’d have Kat bring some of the files and journals back with her.

Will hung up and called Kat on her cell. She sounded strange, which worried him, and he hurried downstairs, Tyler Montague right behind him. Tyler hadn’t said a word but looked concerned. Will felt a little stab of envy, but he knew that he had the same sense of closeness with his own Krewe, all wonderful people. It would be easy to become attached to this Texas Krewe, as well.

When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Kat was standing in the entry waiting for them, a stack of journals in her hands. She seemed calm enough, and yet a little shell-shocked.

“What is it?” Will asked

“I saw him,” she said softly.

“Him?” Tyler echoed. “Who? You okay, Kat?”

“I’m fine,” she assured him. “One of our ghosts showed up. Mr. Miller. He found me in the office. He wants us to help him bring his killer to justice.”

“He’s…gone?” Will asked.

She nodded. “I guess he’s still…finding his way. He was standing in front of me clear as day and he spoke to me, said that a mummy killed him, and then he faded away. But he trusts us,” she said softly.

“He trusts us…to track down a killer mummy?” Tyler spoke incredulously.

“We’ve seen some pretty strange things,” Kat said.

Will looked at her sharply. “You don’t believe in a killer mummy,” he told her. “I’m sure you believe exactly what I believe—that someone with access to historical artifacts, as in a researcher
or museum employee, is dressing up like a mummy. Most of the costume probably isn’t real, but the culprit has taken wrapping from a real mummy somewhere and, accidentally or on purpose, is leaving those bits around to be discovered. There you go. That explains the continuation of the mummy’s curse!”

“Well, a mummy from a shipwreck didn’t kill Brady Laurie,” Tyler said. “Unless things have changed since I went down in the deep, those wrappings—real
or
fake—would start to disintegrate quickly.”

“Yes, but how better to give an elderly man with a heart condition cardiac arrest than by walking in on him as a mummy—and then slapping his digitalis out of his hand?” Will touched Kat’s cheek gently. “Let’s go. It’s time for us to meet back at the hotel,” he said.

“What about Jane?”

“She’ll wait for us there.”

“Aren’t you and Sean supposed to meet up with the film crew tonight?”

“We will.”

They split up at their cars but drove straight back to the hotel. Logan had ordered food to the suite, and serving dishes, warmed by Sterno burners, were set up along one of the buffets. The table was filled with the team members, surrounded by computers and sheets of work they’d printed during the day.

With all seven of them gathered in the room, Logan started a wipe-clean chart to write down what they’d discovered; this was their usual procedure. Someone had access to mummy wrapping used in ancient Egypt. It had been discovered in two places, so obviously that someone had tried to get into Will’s and Kat’s rooms when they’d first arrived. Someone—or two someones working together—had wanted to scare everyone around them with the possibility of Amun Mopat’s curse.

Kat reported on speaking with Austin Miller’s ghost at his home, and explained how speaking with him verified that someone had come upon him—the mummy, according to Austin—and the bruise on his arm had come when “the mummy” blocked him from getting to his medication. She told them what she’d heard Amanda say about finding
it
during her phone call, and what she’d seen in her mind’s eye during the dive.

“How did it go with you all?” Will asked, looking around the table.

“The active members of the Egyptian Sand Diggers number forty. It
was
forty-one, but now with Austin Miller gone…well, it’s down to forty,” Logan said. “They come from every walk of life and range from the youngest, who’s just turned twenty-one, to the oldest member, Dirk Manning. I was able to speak to about five of them at the club today, and they all seemed genuinely sad that Austin was no longer among them. They believe in art and history—and they all say there is no curse.”

“I learned that Andy Simonton of Simonton’s Sea Search, has a little Mako—and that it was out on the lake the day Brady Laurie died,” Kelsey said. She sat perched on the table near Logan. Will had realized that Logan and Kelsey were a couple, but he also saw that it didn’t matter when they were working.

He lowered his head, distracted. In his own Krewe, Jackson Crow and Angela were together and, he thought, planning on marriage in the near future. He knew that with most agencies, teams were usually split up if members became romantically involved, but there was nothing usual about how they worked. Their offices were even separate—an
experimental
section of the FBI.

He gave himself a mental shake and returned his attention to the matter at hand.

“So Andy Simonton was out on the lake?” Kat said.

“There’s no certainty that Andy Simonton was the one out on his boat. All we know is that the dock master noted it was gone during the day. Andy keeps his little speedboat at a public dock, but the company’s salvage ship stays at their own wharf,” Kelsey explained.

“I was at Landry Salvage,” Jane said. “And they have two large salvage ships, kept at their own dock, and two smaller motorboats, both of which sleep six. However, they’re at a private dock, and the dockmaster there didn’t remember either of them being gone.”

“Simonton’s boat was on the lake,” Logan murmured, adding that notation to the board. He looked at Will. “I hear you’re something of a master magician,” Logan said.

“I’m a magician. Magic is tricks, of course, and sleight of hand,” Will responded.

“But you did work as a magician?”

“I have done so.”

“In eighty feet of water could you make it look like you were a mummy?” Logan asked.

“You can make anything appear to be whatever you want—the key is that you do something that persuades your audience to suspend disbelief. Then you go in with the trick, which might not be perfect, but because your audience is ready to see what you want them to see, they will. Like this.” He reached over to Kat’s ear and moved his hand forward, presenting a silver dollar.

“Wow, that was good,” Kelsey said. “Unless you’ve been stowing silver dollars in your ears, Kat?”

“No, and you barely touched it,” Kat told Will.

Will smiled at her. “When we were talking, I made the natural movements I might make during conversation. I had my hand in my pocket, but then I waved it near your ear, so you never saw me with the silver dollar.”

She took the dollar from him.

“Hey!”

“I think it’s mine—it was my ear, right?” she teased.

“That’s not the same as making it look as if a mummy’s attacking you in the depths,” Jane said, frowning.

“No, it’s not. You’re talking about a much more complicated illusion, but it
could
be done,” Will said. “You get the right dive suit. Then you find out what kind of bandaging would work best in the water—appear the most real—and you come down prepared to shed your tank while you perform the illusion. And you’ve got just that. An illusion. But I don’t think Brady Laurie fell for it so easily. That’s why there’s bruising around his mouth. His regulator was torn from him. And someone held him. At least, I believe I’m correct about that. Kat, those bruises looked like ones that would appear postmortem if someone had been held, right?”

She nodded.

“So all we need to do is find a mummy dive suit,” Kelsey said, rolling her eyes.

“Yeah, that would require a hundred search warrants from judges who have to be convinced that a drowning victim was actually murdered and so was an elderly man who had a heart attack. Or maybe we can get Austin Miller to appear before a judge. And if the judge doesn’t have a heart attack, Austin can try to convince him that a mummy did him in.”

Will’s phone rang, startling him. He excused himself to answer it.

“Hey, it’s Bernie. I hear Sean is in—the two of you coming over to see what kind of footage we’ve got?”

“Yes, of course.” Will glanced at his watch. “Bernie,” he said, nodding at Sean Cameron. “He’s expecting Sean and me to see the film they’ve taken thus far,” he told the others.

Sean rose. “Ready whenever you are.”

But Will was surprised to realize that he wasn’t ready to go. He had, in a short period of time, become accustomed to working with Kat.

“Go see what there is to see,” Logan told them. “We’ll be here if you need anything.”

Jane said to Kat, “Let’s get started on the face in that vision of yours.”

Kat nodded, but Will was glad to see that she was watching him—watching him as he left. She gave him a smile, and he felt something inside him quiver.

Tinker Bell? Yeah,
was what he’d thought.

If so, he sure wanted to be Peter Pan.

That’s so sophomoric!
he told himself.

But when she watched him go and he saw her eyes, he felt rivulets of heat race through his veins.

And he didn’t bother to tell himself that she was his colleague.

That just made her more appealing. No, she
couldn’t
be more appealing.

She was everything a ghost-seeking illusionist turned law enforcement agent could ever want—beauty, perfection…and understanding.

And then there were the basic but ravenous feelings he’d begun to experience when he was near her, as primal as the earth and air.

* * *

“What do you remember most?” Jane asked Kat.

“The eyes. They were large and dark. And they seemed to be rimmed with a black liner,” Kat said. “And the face was lean and cleanly cut. Oval-shaped, I think. Classic.”

“The nose?”

“Straight. No twists, bulbs, lifts, curves—very straight.”

Jane sketched out the oval and the eyes and began shading, drawing in the nose. Then she asked about the mouth.

“Full. Full lower and upper lip,” Kat said.

“How’s that?” Jane asked, pointing to the sketch.

“A little thinner in the cheeks.”

Tyler had come to stand behind them.

“That’s him. He’s coming along nicely,” Kat said. “Maybe darken the eyes a little.”

“He looks like someone,” Tyler muttered.

“Who?” Kelsey stood over them then, Logan close beside her.

“I can’t put my finger on it,” Tyler said, “but…there’s something familiar.”

“He had on a hat. Not a turban, but it had width and substance and made him taller. Let’s see…his chest was bare. And he wore a heavy necklace,” Kat recalled.

Jane sketched the headdress and Kat instructed her to broaden it.

“That looks like an Egyptian ceremonial headdress,” Kelsey said. “I saw a few that were very similar on the pictures and statues we’ve been studying.”

“Egyptian, and how strange in many ways. The ancient culture lasted almost thirty centuries, and yet, so much remained the same throughout the dynasties,” Kat said. “I was in the Sand Diggers’ house, I was in Austin Miller’s house and—” She broke off and looked up at Kelsey. “You’re right. There are all kinds of similar faces….”

Tyler, who now sat across from her, took her hands and squeezed them. “Hey, Kat. You seem worried. An ancient Egyptian did
not
come walking across the water to sink the
Jerry McGuen.
”

She smiled. Tyler was the team muscle—but he was also incredibly intelligent and surprisingly sensitive for the tough cowboy he often seemed to be. They’d connected like brother and sister from the first time they’d met, a number of years ago. “I know that, Tyler. And don’t worry. I definitely don’t believe that an Egyptian priest could create a giant image of himself to sink a ship. But I do think there was more than weather out there.”

He nodded. “Okay. All we have to do, then, is figure out what happened that night.”

Logan sat at the head of the table, frowning as he looked at Kat. “Interesting. The ship went down over a hundred years ago, and while you were able to get a little more information from Miller this evening, he couldn’t give you a name—he gave you a mummy. But what you see when you dream
and
when you’re below goes back to the sinking of the ship. I wonder if that has any bearing on what’s happening now.”

“Especially,” Jane added, “if Amanda is searching for something specific.”

“Well, finding something specific in a ship that’s lain on the bottom of Lake Michigan for more than a century is…worse than looking for a needle in a haystack!” Kat said.

“What about Amanda?” Tyler asked. “Any ideas on how we find out whether she was involved?”

“I’d like Will or Sean to get their hands on her computer,” Logan said.

Tyler grinned. “There is that pesky little thing called illegal search and seizure.”

“Tomorrow, Tyler and Sean should dive with the film crew. Alan King told me that Amanda and Jon were bringing out their larger ship. It has a small crane and they plan to start pulling up a few of the boxes.” Logan drummed his fingers on his desk. “Maybe now we’ll find out what Amanda is up to.”

* * *

“That woman is one skinny little witch!” Earl Candy said.

He was showing the film he’d taken the first day, which included Amanda having a fit on the deck of the film crew’s boat. Will watched her, even though he’d been there.

He’d seen the other footage, and he knew she hadn’t been down at the
Jerry McGuen
to kill Brady Laurie; there just hadn’t been time. But maybe there was something hidden beneath the surface that was of more value than they’d imagined.

“How could there be anything more valuable than what they’ve discovered so far?” he mused aloud.

“The treasure does, in essence, belong to the state,” Alan King said. He shook his head. “That’s what I don’t understand. I don’t know much about the black market, but if there were a major piece—wouldn’t everyone know once it went on the market?”

“The black market exists all over the world and most collectors will talk about it if, say, a Rembrandt or Matisse appears on the market somewhere. But finding out who actually has it or where it may be or how money changed hands is a nightmare. Once something disappears into the hands of a private collector, it disappears—sometimes for centuries,” Will said. He spoke without looking at Alan. Like Sean, he kept his eyes glued to the film. “Then, suddenly, you’ll hear about an auction—perhaps an estate auction—and there it’ll be.”