Shadows on the Aegean (7 page)

Gold. Dust. Darkness
.

Camille opened her eyes. The shock of waking up in a hospital had diminished only slightly in the past two weeks. Impressions
she still didn’t fully understand clung to her. She rubbed her face with her shoulder. At least she felt fairly safe here.
Gold, dust, darkness … what were these images from? Her gaze drifted over the baskets and bouquets of flowers assembled for
Camille Kingsley, Ph.D. Egyptology. She felt more like a child than a professional woman.

She didn’t remember anything about the dig, the fall … trained her entire life for archaeology and she couldn’t recall anything.
Gold, dust, and darkness. She wished she could reach into her mind and see what she had seen. If she had seen anything.

What a miserable way to spend the winter season.

It still hurt to breathe, but not as badly as before, so she knew her ribs were mending. Her nurse, Fatima, smiled as she
uncovered Cammy’s breakfast. Hospital food was hospital food, even in Egypt. She looked at the window toward the modern town
of Hurghada on the Red Sea. If she had to stay in this nouveau tourist trap, then she’d much rather be on the beach!

Patiently she opened her mouth, hating that she had to be spoonfed, but with her left arm broken and her right wrist tendon
torn, she literally couldn’t get her hand to her mouth. Fatima told her she had visitors waiting. Cammy let Fatima brush and
twist her long brown hair away.

After an assisted trip to the bathroom and a rinse of her teeth, Cammy gratefully climbed back in between the sheets and fixed
a smile on her face. She wished they wouldn’t come. She felt horribly guilty: just seeing their false-bravado faces made her
cringe inside. They were unemployed because of her.

After the lion collapse incident, the Egyptian Antiquities Authority had closed the dig as unsafe. If Camille hadn’t held
on to the roof, it might not have fallen and they could all still be working. Big ifs that had no effect on the situation
now.

Negotiations were under way to reopen the dig, but it was the Middle East. Time was fluid. Today, tomorrow, next week, next
year … who knew? A dozen people had to be bribed, then they bribed another dozen. The wheels of government weren’t just slow,
they were only recently hewn. Until that far-off day when they received permission again, the eastern desert dig was sealed,
an iron grate was installed over the well, and three guards patrolled twenty-four hours a day. The university had pulled the
grant, terrified of lawsuits.

Jon was the excavation leader, most recently the lion killer and her rescuer. She got chills when she realized what the lion
could have done to her. Yet even when he had swiped at her, his claws had been sheathed. It was a strange detail she hadn’t
noticed until she thought about it afterward. If only she could remember other details.

Brian the Aussie still wore a white bandage around his head, giving his rakish good looks a piratical twist.

Clyde, a talented photographer and copyist whose skill rivaled that of Camille’s sister, Chloe, was from one of the Carolinas.
Blond and slender, with a gentle, slow accent, he had inspired a handful of crushes. All the young nurses wanted to be his
wives, fatten him up, and give him golden-haired children.

Lisa was the only other woman on the team. Her specialty was in mid—eighteenth dynasty funerary objects, though she was well
versed in many other eighteenth-dynasty artifacts. When it was apparent the cavern was eighteenth dynasty, she had come in
from Cairo.

“We brought you this,” Lisa said, laying a tabloid on Cammy’s coverlet. “If laughter is indeed the best medicine, this article
will cure you.

“It’s amazing what the public will believe about archaeology,” Brian said. “It’s bunk. Just like the ‘Curse of Tutankhamen’
all over again.”

Clyde opened the pages for her, and Cammy, mystified by the chortles and giggles of her usually reserved comrades, skimmed
the headlines that reported Elvis sightings and the scoop on alien lovemaking techniques. “Should I even ask how you found
this? Which one of you reads it?” she asked.

Jon turned beet red. “My sister mails me anything that even mentions Egypt. Go ahead, read it.”

Clyde turned the next page, and Cammy stared, openmouthed.

A
RCHAEOLOGIST
T
ALKS TO
G
OD THROUGH
M
AGIC
S
TONES
! the headline proclaimed in huge letters. It was always a bad sign when the headline used exclamation marks. The story continued
in the same overblown fashion. “Renfrock Holmes, the real-life ‘Indiana Jones,’ finds the telekinetic devices to tune
people
into God’s frequency!” read the subtitle.

“Oh no, please not Renfrock,” Cammy said. “How he even got a degree is beyond me.”

“Keep reading,” Lisa said. “It gets better.”

“
Beneath the waters of Israel’s Lake Kinneret, Renfrock Holmes has unearthed the keys to talking to God
.

“
‘God Himself told me where to dig,’ the world-renowned archaeologist said, pointing to a sandy finger of land that leads into
this deep lake, the site of much of Jesus’ teaching and the base of operations for the rabbis who wrote the Talmud.”

Cammy skimmed over the paragraphs extolling Renfrock’s brilliance, his tete-a-tete with God, “
just like Moses, God made me take off my shoes!”
and found the actual details of the artifacts.

She read it twice and looked up. “No way. This is unbelievable.”

Jon chortled. “You’d think that even Renfrock would realize no one would buy this story.”

“
An Egyptian leather pouch, containing two stones that Holmes believes are ‘telecommunication devices with God—’”

Cammy resisted laughing—it hurt too much.

“
‘The pouch is circa 960 B.C.,’ Renfrock said. ‘This may be the same pouch the priests used to carry the stones when they fled
the invading Egyptians.’”

“Did Egyptians invade Israel in 960 B.C.E.?” Cammy asked.

“Keep reading.”

She slogged her way through a poorly written paragraph in which Renfrock claimed that “
through electromagnetic impulse”
the Egyptians had used the stones to build the Pyramids. Cammy couldn’t help it; despite the pain she hooted with laughter.

The article concluded with Renfrock’s challenge to establishment archaeologists to “
have faith”
and “
believe in the truth of legends.”

“Wasn’t there a legend about some stones the Hebrews had?” she asked, flipping idly through the rest of the paper.

“Yes. They were called the Urim and Thummim,” Clyde said. He had a general Near Eastern background, as opposed to the strictly
Egyptian dynastic education the rest of the team shared.

“Strange names,” Lisa said.

“In Hebrew, ‘im’ is plural. They mean Justice and Mercy. Or Lights and Perfections, depending on the translation,” Clyde said.
“According to legend, David’s high priest used them to learn what battles he would win.”

“David?” Brian asked.

“King David? The guy who slew Goliath? Did any of you go to Sunday school?” Clyde asked with a smile.

“You’re saying he could talk to God?” Jon asked. “What a load of bullshit.”

“How did the stones work?” Cammy asked.

“Well,” Clyde said, his cadence slowing, “no one knows how exactly they were used, but the high priest carried them around
in his ephod, that jeweled breastplate he wore, and they kept Israel out of a lot of trouble.”

“What happened to them? I’m assuming, since I’ve not heard of them in any museum or collection, that they were lost,” Lisa
said.

“The Bible doesn’t mention them after the dividing of the monarchy, i.e. after the death of Solomon in 930 B.C.E.”

“So Renfrock got his dates wrong,” Jon said, shaking his head in disgust.

“When did they come into being?” Brian asked.

“They’re mentioned biblically with Moses and Aaron, though that could be anachronistic. It’s rumored that Saul had a pair
and
David had a pair. Heck, there are legends that say Noah had ‘em on the Ark and one of his sons took ‘em,” Clyde said.

“Noah? His sons?” Jon asked.

“Even I know this,” Brian said. “Noah had three sons: Ham, Shem, and Japheth. All the peoples of the world—”

“The world as seen by the Hebrews,” Lisa said. “I don’t think Asia or Australia were included.”

“Nah, I doubt they were,” Brian said. “Shem became the father of the nations called Semites. Arabs and Jews, et cetera. Ham
was father of Egypt, Canaan, Libya, and Ethiopia.”

“Most of Africa, then,” Cammy said.

“Japheth is credited with the northern peoples: his offspring populated the land from the Caspian Sea to the Greek Isles.”

“Actually, Greece was fathered by Japheth’s son, Noah’s grandson Javan,” Clyde said. “In Hebrew the word for ‘Greece’ actually
is ‘Javan.’”

“So one of Noah’s sons stole the stones?”

Clyde shrugged. “It’s just a legend. No verification anywhere.”

“So Noah allegedly called God for a weather report using these stones?” Cammy asked with a chuckle.

“One would hope
that
weatherman would be more accurate,” Jon said.

“ ‘The forecast calls for rain,’” Brian said. “ ‘A lot of rain.’ ”

Lisa chuckled. “ ‘Rain to last for weeks. Don’t plan on gardening, there won’t be any ground.’”

Cammy wondered: Was it possible that Renfrock had really found this Urim and Thummim? “Is it—”

“No. They were mystical talismans, probably just some pretty rocks, and David had unbeatable luck, so the legend grew,” Clyde
said. “If Renfrock has found anything, it’s just—”

“Poppycock,” Brian suggested.

The conversation moved away from the news article, and the group discussed their options while the dig was closed. Since there
was no end in sight and it was midseason, the team was scattering. Camille and her sister, Chloe, were due to fly out of Cairo
at the end of the month, to meet their parents at the Kingsley villa on the Greek isle of Santorini. Cammy’s mom would be
there, fresh from her new excavation in the Aegean. Cammy’s dad was still in negotiating mode, who really knew where. Brian
was returning to Melbourne, Lisa to Chicago, and Jon was off to Turkey. Clyde had gotten a last minute job with a team in
Israel.

If only she hadn’t grabbed the ceiling, if only the dig hadn’t collapsed—Camille fought down her feelings of guilt. She struggled
to look happy and wished them all a great season. Everyone left except Clyde. Recently they’d begun to play cards together.
Cammy could stuff the cards in her cast and with her mobile right fingers select and discard. Clyde was good company, and
she helped him with his Arabic while they played. Fatima was everywhere, fluffing pillows, fetching them tea and pastries
with shy smiles.

Cammy was losing by two hands when Chloe walked in.

Clyde was head over hiking boots in love with Cammy’s sister. In normal circumstances, Cammy would have been thrilled. However,
Cammy hadn’t really liked her sister much in the past year. The intimacy they’d once shared was gone, just when Cammy really
needed it, too.

“How are you feeling?” Chloe said, brushing a kiss over Cammy’s cheek. She was wearing a short skirt, heels, and a clinging
top. It was bare and daring for the United States, absolutely scandalous in the Middle East. Chloe’s cultural sensitivity
had flown out the window along with her artistic ability, sweet nature, and sardonic tongue. Her long red hair fell over her
shoulders, and her lipstick and heavy eyeliner underlined a sensuality Cammy had only recently seen in her sister.

Clyde went mute. He never knew what to say around Chloe. His neck turned red, and sweat beaded his upper lip. A soft touch
on his shoulder and another on his knee made him drop his cards. Cammy had witnessed this drama for the past weeks. Had Chloe
always had this effect on men? It was odd, but Cammy sometimes felt as though someone else watched the world from behind Chloe’s
eyes.

Of the things that had changed in the past year, the changes in Chloe were the oddest. About a year ago, the Kingsley family
had suffered a terrible scare. Chloe had gone missing on her birthday. Anton Zeeman, a Dutch doctor, was the last person who
had seen her. When a chamber in Luxor Temple had been found splattered with blood, he had been held for her murder.

Tests had shown that of the two types of blood present, neither was Chloe’s rare AB-negative. Cammy had been consumed with
guilt. Chloe had been in Egypt at Cammy’s request. Despite the fact that Chloe was an adult, a military officer, and an entrepreneur,
she was still Cammy’s kid sister. Cammy still felt responsible. Anton had gone free once the bloods were analyzed.

Cammy shivered as she remembered the night he’d shown up at her door, pleading with her to believe him, to let him help. He
hadn’t killed anyone. Not only had she forgiven him, but they had somehow wound up in bed, having the most cataclysmic sex
Cammy had ever experienced.

Don’t even go there, she admonished herself. Anton had realized it was a mistake; he’d never even called. Sick with guilt
and worry, Cammy had returned to her dig and buried herself in work. Chloe had been found in early March. The feeling of relief
was something Camille would never forget.

Nor would she forget the eerie sensation of Chloe’s hysterical blindness or the fact that her sister’s eyes, once green as
palms, were now brown. Concussion, the doctors said. Severe trauma related to a concussion. Odd, but not completely unheard
of.

Eye color was the least of the changes. Chloe, an artist to her very core, had not picked up a pen or paintbrush in almost
a year. Moreover, she refused to leave Egypt, draining her accounts in Dallas. She had moved in with a young Egyptian named
Phaemon, a man Cammy had never even met. She exhibited a stunning disregard for her parents’ feelings and their father’s reputation.

In the Middle Eastern mind, one’s daughters were the honor of one’s household. Chloe was performing a slow hatchet job on
their father’s role as a negotiator in the elaborate Middle East peace knot. Chloe knew that the Arabs, Palestinians, and
even the Israelis were losing respect for her father, but she didn’t seem to care. She treated him like a stranger when he
came to see her. They’d never had the best of relationships, but this was extreme, even for them. Chloe had adamantly refused
counseling, or talking to anyone, even family. She claimed she remembered nothing, she just wanted to be left alone.