Riptide (59 page)

“This can be the mummy we put in the tomb,” Menzies said. “The idea—Nora’s idea—was that we show the tomb as it appeared while
being robbed.”

“How perfect,” said Wicherly, turning a brilliant smile to Nora.

“I
believe,
” McCorkle interrupted, “that the tomb entrance was against that far wall.” Dropping his bag on the floor, he pulled the plastic
sheeting away from the shelves covering the wall, exposing pots, bowls, and baskets, all filled with black shrivelled objects.

“What’s that inside?” Nora asked.

Wicherly went over to examine the objects. After a silence he straightened up. “Preserved food. For the afterlife. Bread,
antelope joints, fruits and vegetables, dates, all preserved for the pharaoh’s journey to the afterworld.”

They heard a growing rumble coming through the walls, followed by a muffled squeal of metal, then silence.

“The A Line,” McCorkle explained. “The 81st Street station is very close.”

“We’ll have to find some way to dampen that,” Menzies said. “It destroys the mood.”

McCorkle grunted. He removed an electronic device from the bag and aimed it at the newly exposed wall, turned, aimed again,
then examined the readings. He pulled out a piece of chalk, made a mark on the wall, then another. Taking a second device
from his shirt pocket, he laid it against the wall and slid it across slowly, taking readings as he went.

Then he stepped back. “Bingo. Help me move these shelves.”

They began shifting the objects to shelves on the other walls. When the wall was bare, McCorkle pulled the shelf supports
from the crumbling plaster with a set of pliers and put them to one side.

“Ready for the moment of truth?” McCorkle asked with a gleam in his eye, his good humor returning.

“Absolutely,” said Wicherly.

McCorkle removed a long spike and hammer from his bag, positioned the spike on the wall, gave it a sharp blow, then another.
The sounds echoed in the confined space and plaster began falling in sheets from the old wall, exposing courses of brick.
He continued to drive the spike in, bricks splitting, dust rising, and then suddenly the spike buried itself to the hilt.
McCorkle rotated it, giving it a few side blows with the hammer to loosen the brick. A few more deft blows knocked a chunk
of brickwork away, leaving a black rectangle. He stepped back.

As he did so, Wicherly darted forward. “Forgive me if I claim explorer’s privilege.” He turned back with his most charming
smile. “Any objections?”

“Be our guest,” said Menzies. McCorkle frowned but said nothing.

Wicherly took his flashlight and shined it into the hole, pressing his face to the gap. A long silence ensued, interrupted
by the rumble of a subway train.

“What do you see?” asked Menzies at last.

“Strange animals, statues and gold—everywhere the glint of gold.”

“What?” said McCorkle. “The tomb should be empty.”

Wicherly glanced back at him. “I was being facetious—quoting what Howard Carter said when he first peered into King Tut’s
tomb.”

McCorkle’s lips tightened. “If you’ll step aside, please, I’ll have this open in a moment.”

He stepped back up to the gap, and with a series of expertly aimed blows with the spike and hammer loosened several rows of
bricks, taking them out and handing them to Nora and Wicherly, who stacked them neatly against the wall. In less than ten
minutes he had opened a hole big enough to step through. He disappeared inside then returned a moment later.

“The electricity isn’t working, as I suspected. We’ll have to use our flashlights. I’m required to lead the way,” he said,
with a glance at Wicherly. “Museum regulations. Might be hazards in there.”

“The mummy from the Black Lagoon, perhaps,” said Wicherly, with a laugh and a glance at Nora.

They stepped inside, then paused to reconnoiter. In the glow of their flashlight beams a great stone threshold was visible,
and beyond, a sloping staircase carved out of rough limestone blocks.

McCorkle moved toward the top step, hesitated, then gave a slightly nervous chuckle. “Ready, ladies and gents?” he asked.