“What an adventure! A great read that provides lots of action, and thoughtful insight into strange realms that are sometimes best left unexplored.” Paul Kemprecos, author of Cool Blue Tomb and the NUMA Files

“Excellent pulp adventure in the mold of Doc Savage. Took me back in the best way to books I loved when I was a kid!”- Terry Mixon, author of the Empire of Bones Saga

“Rip roaring action from start to finish. Wit and humor throughout. Just one question — how soon until the next one? Because I can’t wait.” Graham Brown, author of Shadows of the Midnight Sun

“Intrigue, suspense, monsters, and treasure hunters. What more could you want? David’s knocked it out of the park with this one!” Nick Thacker- author of The Enigma Strain

“A twisty tale of adventure and intrigue that never lets up and never lets go!” Robert Masello, author of The Einstein Prophecy

“A page-turning yarn blending high action, Biblical speculation, ancient secrets, and nasty creatures. Indiana Jones better watch his back!” Jeremy Robinson, author of SecondWorld

“Mr. Wood has mixed speculative history with our modern day pursuit of truth, he has created a story that thrills and makes one think beyond the boundaries of mere fiction and enter the world of ‘why not’?” David Lynn Golemon, Author of the Event Group series

“Let there be no confusion: David Wood is the next Clive Cussler. Once you start reading, you won’t be able to stop until the last mystery plays out in the final line.” Edward G. Talbot, author of 2012: The Fifth World

“I like my thrillers with lots of explosions, global locations and a mystery where I learn something new. Wood delivers!” J.F. Penn, author of Desecration

Cover art by Drazenka Kimpel

This is a work of fiction. All characters are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Blue Descent

Dourado

Cibola

Quest

Icefall

Buccaneer

Atlantis

Ark

Xibalba

Loch

Solomon Key

Contest

Serpent

Eden Quest

Desert Gold

Freedom

Hell Ship

Splashdown

Dead Ice

Liberty

Electra

Amber

Justice

Treasure of the Dead

Bloodstorm

Berserk

Maug

Elementals

Cavern

Devil’s Face

Herald

Brainwash

The Tomb

Shasta

Legends

Golden Dragon

Emerald Dragon

Baal (forthcoming)

Destination: Rio

Destination: Luxor

Destination: Sofia

Primitive

The Book of Bones

Skin and Bones

Venom

Lair of the Sea Witch

Arena of Souls

Track of the Beast

Curse of the Pharaoh

Oracle

Changeling

Exile

Destiny

Mystic

Sanctum

Blood Codex

Anubis Key

Revenant

Primordial

Overlord

Crocalypse

Into the Woods (with David S. Wood)

The Zombie-Driven Life

You Suck

Callsign: Queen (with Jeremy Robinson)

Dark Rite (with Alan Baxter)

Aquaria Falling

Aquaria Burning

The Gate

The Silver Serpent

Keeper of the Mists

The Gates of Iron

The Impostor Prince (with Ryan A. Span)

Neptune’s Key

Trinity Paige stared out across the crowded bullpen of the Washington Scribe and contemplated murder. The incessant clacking of typewriter keys and loud chatter among her colleagues filled her ears with a monotonous drone. She swatted at a trail of cigarette smoke that drifted past and glared at the sheet of paper in front of her. Crossed off were all her best ideas for her next investigative report. Written beneath them were her editor’s suggestions, all related to fashion, cooking, or gardening.

Trinity rolled her eyes. Her editor didn’t seem to understand this was 1932, not 1732. At the far end of the room, something caught her eye. A shock of red hair, coming toward her, was just visible above the men that filled the room. She knew who was coming before the tall, skinny form of Alex English broke through the throng of reporters. A mechanical wiz and an inventor, Alex was the best friend of Trinity’s longtime gentleman friend, Brock Stone.

“I was in the city. Thought I’d drop by.” Alex pulled up a chair, took a seat, and propped his feet on the corner of Trinity’s desk. His pant legs rode up, revealing mismatched argyle socks.

“Do you mind?” Trinity’s sharp reproval was all it took to make Alex sit up straight and mind his manners.

“So, what’s buzzing?” Alex asked.

“My new editor has rejected all of my latest pitches, except for those he took and handed off to his toadies.” She held up her notepad. “He suggested I do a piece on fashionable hats.”

“Give me a boater any day. Keeps the sunbeams off your beak.” Alex tapped his nose with the tip of the hook that had taken the place of his missing left hand and grinned knowingly.

“I’ll be sure to include that in my column.” Trinity thrust a pencil into the sharpener and cranked furiously, imagining the pencil was her editor’s finger, or some other body part. “Everyone keeps telling me how fortunate I am to even have this job, as if I don’t have the same qualifications as my male colleagues, and I have seen more of the world than any of them.” A few months earlier, Trinity and her friends had uncovered a secret lab where the Illuminati and their Nazi cohorts conducted horrible human experiments.

“You might want to try a pen,” Alex said.

Trinity looked down to see that she had ground the pencil to a nub. She held it up, stared at it for a moment, then tossed it into the wastebasket.

“It’s unfair. Just when I had earned the respect of my previous editor, he went and had himself a massive heart attack.”

“The nerve of the man.” Alex took a newspaper from inside his coat, unfolded it, and began to read.

“And now, my new editor thinks I’m only good for puff pieces.”

Alex didn’t reply. He turned the page and let out a low whistle. “If you want to write a story about hats, I suggest you begin at the Natural History Museum. Magda Fischer has arranged for a private viewing of the Orion Crowley exhibit. Well, her rich boyfriend arranged it.”

“Spoiled celebrities,” Trinity muttered. Magdalena “Magda” Fischer was a popular actress from Austria. With her golden tresses and big blue eyes, she was regarded by many as the most beautiful woman in the world. Trinity couldn’t see it. “And what does that have to do with hats?”

“Look at this.” Alex flipped the newspaper around.

Beneath the headline SCREEN QUEEN GETS PRIVATE AUDIENCE WITH THE DEAD was a photograph of Fischer in an indecently tight dress. She was walking arm-in-arm with a tall, distinguished-looking man. The pair were surrounded by security guards, thick-necked brunos who bore more than a passing resemblance to albino gorillas.

“You have to admit, that’s a very nice hat.” Alex’s eyes twinkled.

“I doubt it was the hat that caught your eye. And the Washington Warbler? Who said you could bring a competitor’s paper in here? Not that that rag is worthy of the name.”

She snatched the paper away from Alex and scanned the article. Alfred Orion Crowley, known to his friends as Orion, was the eccentric scion of a wealthy English family. A self-described archaeologist, he made several trips up the Nile, though he claimed to have discovered nothing of any importance. According to rumors, something happened on his final expedition that frightened him so much that he never returned to Egypt again.

Orion moved to northern Virginia, where he lived a quiet life. He was an active member of the Freemasons, and his sponsorship of archaeological expeditions and donations to museums earned him a reputation as a philanthropist. The few who knew him well described him as a kind but troubled man. After his death, investigators discovered a hidden door in his library. On the other side was a private study filled with Egyptian artifacts.

In his will, Orion had left all his belongings to the Smithsonian Institution. The items had been cataloged and studied and would be on exhibit beginning tomorrow. The exhibit included a reconstruction of Orion’s secret study, using his actual furniture and possessions. In exchange for a sizeable donation to the Smithsonian, Magda Fischer and a handful of invited guests would get an early peek at his collection.

“You know how Orion died, don’t you?” Alex grasped the top of the newspaper with his hook and pulled it down so he could peer over at Trinity. “The Curse of the Pharaoh!”

“For the last time, Alex, Egyptian curses aren’t real. Mediterranean food simply disagrees with you.”

“I’m serious! Egyptian artifacts are cursed. Bad things happen to people who take them. And what did he uncover on his last expedition that convinced him to put an entire ocean between himself and Egypt?”

“That sounds like one of your pulp novels,” Trinity said. “For the life of me, I can’t understand why you waste your time with those ridiculous adventure stories. It’s no wonder you read the Warbler.” Her eyes drifted back to the photograph of Magda Fischer and to the slightly blurred image of her gentleman friend. She gasped. “I can’t believe it! How did I not recognize him immediately?”

“Recognize who?” Alex asked.

Trinity ignored him. She picked up her telephone and aggressively dialed Stone’s number. Moses Gibbs, the caretaker of Stone’s property and one of his oldest friends, answered. Stone was not home so Moses took a message. Trinity thanked him and ended the call. She sprang to her feet, grabbed her handbag, and stuffed a notepad and several pencils inside. Fischer’s viewing of the exhibit was scheduled for 3:00. It would be a tight window to get there in time.

“Come with me. Hurry!” She turned and rushed out of the office.

“What’s going on?” Alex asked. His long strides quickly closed the gap between them.

“We have got to get into that viewing!”

“You really liked that hat.” Alex grinned.

“No, you twit. Magda Fischer’s gentleman friend is John Kane.” John Kane was a powerful New York businessman with ties to the Illuminati. He had his fingers in all sorts of illicit plots. Trinity had been trying for two years to delve into the man’s life and business, but his secrets were locked up tight as a drum.

“What does that matter?” Alex asked.

“Connect the dots. Orion was a Freemason who died under unusual circumstances. We know Kane has been working with both the Illuminati and the Nazis.”

“You think Kane wanted something from Orion’s secret collection?” Alex scratched his head with the tip of his hook.

“I think it merits investigation.” Trinity’s heart raced. Her reporter’s instincts told her she was on the right track.

“Shouldn’t we wait until we hear from Stone?” Alex asked.

“There’s no time. We have to get a look at that exhibit before Kane does. You don’t have to come along if you don’t want to.”

“I’m coming.” Alex heaved a tired sigh. “Stone would kill me if I let you go alone.”

The sun shone brightly on the lush grass of the National Mall. Up ahead loomed the National Museum of Natural History. Opened in 1910, the building combined Gothic Revival and twelfth-century Romanesque architecture, featuring a flat roof, arched windows, a symmetrical granite facade, and a domed rotunda. Its collection included plants, animals, fossils, minerals, rocks, meteorites, human remains, and cultural artifacts.

“Tell me again what I’m looking for?” Alex was already having second thoughts about Trinity’s hastily concocted plan.

“Anything that looks important.”

“In an exhibit full of treasures from Ancient Egypt? Everything will look important.”

“Something out of the ordinary, then. Something hidden. Anything Kane could use to help the Nazis.”

“Lower your voice,” Alex warned. Nearby, a trio of men cast angry glances their way. “Hitler’s supporters are everywhere, even in America.”

Trinity had mulled the problem over on the drive from the newspaper, and she had a hunch Alex had been correct about one thing. “What if you’re right about the significance of his final expedition? Maybe Kane wants to get his hands on whatever frightening discovery Orion made. Perhaps we can learn where Orion went.”

“I’m looking for a Texaco Roadmap of the Upper Nile?” Alex winked, then let out a grunt when Trinity elbowed him in the ribs. “Only joking.”

“This is no time for humor. Have you figured out how you’ll get past security?”

“What?” Alex stopped dead in his tracks. “I thought you had a plan.”

“I do have a plan. I distract Fischer and Kane while you search the exhibit for clues.”

Alex ran a hand through his short ginger hair and let out a deep sigh. Sometimes he wondered how Stone tolerated this woman. To be fair, he also wondered how Trinity put up with Stone’s exploits. They were perfect for one another.

“Should we wait a few minutes in case Stone shows up?” he asked.

“If he arrives in the next ten seconds, he is welcome to lend a hand.”

“Fine,” Alex groaned. “I will figure something out or get arrested trying.”

“That’s the spirit.” Trinity gave him a pat on the cheek. “Swiftly, now. I believe that is Magda Fischer’s car.” She pointed at a long, sleek vehicle pulling to the curb. It was cherry red with black trim and whitewall tires.

Alex let out a low whistle. “That’s a 1930 Cadillac Series 353 Fleetwood limousine. Only 1,400 were made.”

“You can admire it later. We have work to do.” Trinity turned and double-timed it across the street, making a beeline for the crowd gathered near the limo.

Alex jogged up the steps of the museum. He paused to watch as Trinity elbowed her way to the front of the throng. The chauffeur stepped out of the limousine and hurried to open the back door.

A man in a tailor-made suit climbed out first. He was a distinguished-looking fellow, tall and broad-shouldered. Alex paid him little mind. His attention was focused on the leggy blonde bombshell Kane was helping out of the car. John Kane and Magda Fischer made a handsome couple, a regular Sheikh and Sheba. But there was no time for him to stare. He needed to get a move on.

“May I help you?” A short, round man bursting out of an old three-piece suit waddled over to him.

“Nothing comes to mind.” Alex craned his neck for a better look at Magda Fischer, but Kane and the limousine driver were in the way.

“The museum is closed for the next hour,” the man said.

“Thanks for that.” Alex caught a glimpse of blonde hair, but the crowd drew in closer to the actress and he could no longer see.

“I must ask you to move along,” the officious man said. “A private group will be entering soon.”

“That is why I’m here. I’m with the Bureau,” Alex bluffed.

“The Bureau?” The man nodded, knowingly. “I knew that woman was lying.”

“What woman is that?” Alex asked.

“The blonde girl who showed up an hour ago claiming the Bureau had sent her to keep an eye on things while our guests visited.” He nodded in the direction of the limousine, where Trinity was chatting amiably with Magda Fischer.

“Did she give a name?” Alex’s mouth was dry.

“Constance something.” The man scratched his balding head.

“Constance Cray?” Alex asked. Curse his luck!

“That’s the one. A tasty little muffin, but she’s got a holier-than-thou attitude if you ask me.

It required all of Alex’s self-control to maintain a straight face. He knew Constance well, and more importantly, she knew Alex was not employed by the Bureau.

“She is an agent, but a junior one. Makes a fine cup of coffee but requires supervision.” Alex winked at the man. “I’ll take care of it.”

“Through the atrium, turn right, and follow the signs.”

Alex walked with a sense of purpose, and no one bothered to question him as he made his way through the quiet corridors. He flashed a wink at a brunette with big green eyes, who smiled back. He considered asking her name, but he froze when Constance came stalking down the hallway in his direction.

Constance Cray was blonde with creamy skin and blue eyes as cold as ice. She had a way of looking down her nose at everyone, even someone as tall as Alex.

“What are you doing here, Alex?” Her voice was the hiss of a viper.

“It’s a museum, and it’s open to the public.”

“Do you take me for a fool?” Constance hissed. “You are here because of John Kane.”

“And you aren’t?” He could tell by the way her eyes bulged that his shot in the dark had hit the bullseye. “The Bureau didn’t send you, did they?”

“No, but that doesn’t change the fact that you should not be here.”

“I’m not leaving until I see the exhibit.” Alex stood straight, folded his arms, and tried to appear imposing.

“I could take you into custody.” There was a twinkle in her eye that suggested she had tried the idea on for size and liked the fit.

“Not without your superiors finding out you’ve gone rogue… again.”

“You’re wasting your time. I have already searched the exhibit and found nothing of interest.” Constance smirked. “And stop standing like that. You look like the statue of Ramesses II holding his crook.” She tapped Alex’s hook.

“That is unkind,” Alex said.

“So is never calling on a lady after making your feelings known.”

“Can we discuss this later?” Alex tried to suppress the wave of guilt that threatened to overwhelm him. “Trinity can only stall Kane for so long.”

“Trinity is here?” Constance closed her eyes, put her hand to her forehead. “Let me guess. While you distract me, Brock Stone is sneaking in through the back door, and Moses is waiting around the corner in a getaway car.”

“No. This is my and Trinity’s operation.”

“Operation? Listen to me, Alex. You are not an agent.” She said the last slowly as if speaking to a small child or a West Virginian.

“No? Well, the man at the front door believed me when I told him I was your superior.” The words were out before he could stop himself.

“My superior?” Constance’s voice was dangerously soft. “Fine, then. You are on your own… Agent English.” Her cheeks crimson, Constance shouldered past him and stalked away.

“Your conduct will be in my report, Agent Cray,” Alex called. Constance ignored him. “Well done, Alex,” he chided himself. “You fail so often you ought to play for the Senators.” He checked his watch. Time was running short. He hoped Trinity could stall Kane, or else his goose was cooked.

Brock Stone stepped off the train and into the sparkling new Pont Neuf Station in the heart of Paris. Weary from lack of sleep, he let the sea of passengers break around him as he made his slow way out to the street. Traffic was heavy on the Quai de Louvre, the thoroughfare that ran along the Right Bank of the Seine. Horns blared as bicycles and horse-drawn carriages weaved their way through a steady stream of automobiles.

To his right stood the Louvre, the medieval palace that had been converted into a museum in the late 1700s. The sight made his heart sink. Trinity had always wanted to visit Paris, and the Louvre was at the top of her list. He had long dreamed of visiting the city, but not without her.

He crossed the street and headed east to the Pont Neuf, the three-hundred-year-old stone bridge that joined the Left and Right banks of the Seine. He strolled across the old bridge flanked by a group of young ladies carrying parasols, and gentlemen clad in three-piece suits and bowler hats. Stone was similarly dressed, and he felt like a fool. Give him fatigues or dungarees any day.

“Quel est ton nom?” A girl with big blue eyes peered up at him from underneath the wide brim of her picture hat.

“Sorry, I don’t speak French.” That wasn’t true, but Stone was here on business. Making new acquaintances was not part of the mission.

“What is your name?”

“Smith.”

“Is that your first name or your given name?” She batted her lashes at him.

“I’m Brock…” Cripes! He had used his real name. Lying didn’t come easy to him, which made this cloak-and-dagger assignment a challenge. “Brock Smith.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Brock. My name is Marianne, but if you are nice to me, you can call me Manon.”

Stone couldn’t deny her beauty, and there was a twinkle of mischief in her eyes. Give her an independent spirit and a stubborn streak a mile wide and she would be exactly his type.

“Nice to meet you.” He lengthened his stride, but Manon matched his pace with ease.

They walked along in silence as they crossed the western point of Île de la Cité, or City Island. Situated in the middle of the river Seine, the island was home to Notre Dame Cathedral.

“The Romans built a fortress on the island in the fourth century,” Manon said unprompted. “In 508, Clovis, the first King of the Franks, built his palace here.”

Stone nodded. In other circumstances, he would have enjoyed the history lesson.

“Are you impolite or are you merely con comme un balai?”

Stone cocked his head. “Am I stupid as a broomstick?”

Manon giggled. “I thought you did not speak French.”

“I understand it better than I speak it.” Why wouldn’t this woman go away?

“You are a terrible liar, Brock ‘Smith’.”

“The only thing I am is late for a meeting. Good evening.” He tipped his boater and made to walk away but Manon grabbed him by the arm.

“Un moment, s'il vous plaît.” Manon’s sly wink said she knew full well he understood her. “You interest me, Brock. I do not know what your business is in Paris, but I sense you will get yourself into trouble before it is through. If you need help, come to the Boulangerie Dantes. My appartement is above it.”

“Won’t it upset your husband if I show up unannounced?” Stone deadpanned.

“I am my own woman. I understand that is unpopular with American men. It is much the same in France.”

“I like a strong woman.” Stone wanted to kick himself. Why was he engaging with her, much less revealing anything at all about his real self?

Manon flashed a pitying smile and gave him a gentle, condescending pat on the cheek. “I find you charmant in a clumsy way. I think I will see you soon. I have a sense about these things.” She swept away with a confident grace and melted back in with her group.

“Am I really that transparent?” Stone muttered. “If she sees through me, what chance do I have?”

“I positively adore your hat,” Trinity said. “I wish I could dress with such elegance, but it’s a man’s world and I have to work in it.”

“Believe me, I understand. The men in my industry are dogs.” Magda Fischer rolled her big blue eyes and smiled knowingly.

“That is why she only spends her time with men who know how to treat a lady. I am John Kane.” They shook hands. Kane was a tall man with an athletic build. His jet-black hair, sprinkled with silver at the temples, was perfectly coiffed, and his toothbrush mustache precisely trimmed.

“A pleasure. I am Nellie Benton.” Nellie Benton was the name Trinity gave when hiding her identity. It combined the names of two of her personal heroes: Nelly Bly, the legendary investigative reporter, and Jessie Benton Frémont, the writer and political activist whose writings had brought fame to her husband, John C. Frémont.

“Miss Benton is a reporter,” Fischer said.

“Really?” Kane arched an eyebrow. “Forgive me, but every reporter I’ve ever met has been a peaked-looking man with thick glasses and at least one ink stain on his suit.”

“You just described half my colleagues,” Trinity said.

“What newspaper do you work for?” Kane asked.

Trinity said the first name that came to her. “The Washington Warbler.” She wondered if the Warbler even had any female staff. If Kane suspected her, he could easily find out she had been lying. But Kane merely nodded and flashed a polite smile. Relieved, Trinity turned to Fischer.

“I don’t suppose I could have just a few minutes of your time?”

“Our viewing begins in a few minutes,” Kane said.

“You go on. I’ll catch up.” Fischer turned to Trinity and grinned. “Women should support one another, don’t you think?”

“Absolutely. And thank you.” Trinity’s heart raced. She had managed to stall Fischer but not Kane. Alex was now on his own.

Alex approached the guard. He kept his chin up and tried to exude an air of confidence. He took a deep breath and spoke from his chest.

“I’m Agent English,” he said, flashing his Buck Rogers Fan Club membership card and tucking it away again before they could read it. “I need to give the exhibit a final inspection.”

“Your girl already did that,” the guard said.

“Which is why I need to check behind her. You understand.”

The guard grinned knowingly. “Should have sent you in the first place.”

“Government.” Alex shrugged as he strode past the guard and into the Crowley exhibit.

He quickly examined the collection. A gold death mask stood on a pedestal. Behind it, five canopic jars sat in a row. A variety of weapons were on display, including javelins, bronze-tipped spears, and a gold dagger with a jewel-inlaid hilt. Statues of all sorts guarded a large quartzite vault that had once held a coffin. Nothing leaped out at him as being unusual or especially significant.

He moved on to the next room, where Orion Crowley’s study had been reconstructed. A quick inspection turned up nothing. He was about to admit defeat when his eyes fell on a walking stick leaning against an overstuffed armchair. It was topped by a bronze cap. Stone’s grandfather had owned one like this. The cap was removable if you knew the trick.

“I wonder…”

He picked it up, twisted the cap a quarter-turn to the left, pushed down, then a half-turn back to the right, then pulled up. It came free. Inside was a rolled paper. He took it out and unrolled it. It was a map! He barely had time to take in the sight when he heard voices. His watch read 3:00. Time was up!

Alex whipped his head around. He expected to see a security guard, or perhaps Constance coming to tell him his time was up. To his surprise, two big goons shouldered their way through the door.

“Who are you? What are you doing here?” The speaker was a husky man with blond hair cut in a wave.

“I’m with the Bureau,” Alex said.

“You?” The man smirked. “Let’s see your credentials.”

“My credentials?” Alex blinked. “I don’t have to show you anything.”

“Don’t listen to him, Max. He’s bluffing,” said a black-haired man whose bulk blocked the doorway.

“What is that paper you’re holding?” Max pointed at the map clutched in the hook at the end of Alex’s left arm.

“None of your business.” Alex looked around for an avenue of escape. The only way out that wasn’t blocked was the door leading into the tomb exhibit.

“We’re making it our business. Come on, Artie.” Max dipped into his pocket and took out a pair of brass knuckles which he slipped onto his left hand.

Alex grabbed Orion’s walking stick and flung it at Max. It bounced off the big goon’s chest, eliciting a smile.

“Is that the best you can do?” Max chuckled, took a step forward.

Alex sprang up onto the large mahogany desk. A cup filled with sharpened pencils sat atop it, along with a framed photograph and a ship in a bottle. Alex kicked the pencil cup, sending small, sharp projectiles flying at Kane’s thugs. Max covered his eyes and turned away. Alex hopped down off the desk and made a run for the open door.

The thugs closed in on him. Alex threw his shoulder into a suit of armor as he sprinted past it. It clanged to the floor at the feet of the two goons, who stumbled and fell. A few feet away, something caught his eye — a kerosene lamp sitting on a bookshelf. Alex snatched it up and hurled it at the two men who were just climbing to their feet. The lamp shattered and the fuel spattered all over them.

“Would you look at that?” Artie said. “Now we have to take our suits to the cleaners. I guess he’s going to get away.”

“Not too bright, are you?” Alex took out his Zippo lighter and quickly knelt.

“No!” the two dimwitted men shouted in unison.

Alex gave the lighter a flick and lit the spilled kerosene. A streak of fire shot across the floor and set the two men’s suits ablaze. They roared in pain, scrambled to their feet, and tried to bat out the flames.

Alex’s eyes moved to the door that led back to the museum. There was a commotion, and more men rushed in.

“I won’t be getting out that way.” Alex turned and ran into the tomb exhibit. He wound through a forest of statues — Bastet cats, Anubis warriors, and the ibis-headed form of the god Thoth. At the back of the room, the quartzite vault stood against the wall. High above it hung a grill covering a ventilation shaft. “It’s worth a try.”

Footsteps resounded behind him. He glanced back and saw Max, his face bright red and his clothing and hair scorched, closing in on him. He wound his way through the forest of statues that filled the exhibit to the vault.

An Anubis warrior guarded the vault. He clutched a khopesh, a curved sword with a distinctive, question mark shape. Alex snatched it, turned, and swung it at Max. The blade trimmed a lock of hair from the big thug’s brow. Max leaped backward and fell, toppling a display of scarabs. The artifacts crashed to the floor and spilled in every direction.

Alex clambered up onto the stone vault. He switched the map to his right hand and used his hook to rip the grate off the ventilation shaft. It was just wide enough for his narrow shoulders to fit inside.

“He’s getting away!” Artie shouted.

Alex had a trick up his sleeve. He had made special modifications to the hook he wore. He twisted his hook until it clicked, aimed it down the shaft, and fired. The hook, attached to a fine cable, flew down the shaft until it caught. Alex pressed a button and the cable began to reel in, pulling him along.

He was halfway into the shaft when he heard footsteps behind him. He still clutched the map in his right hand. He felt a tug, heard the sound of ripping paper. And then he was free, sliding along the ventilation shaft. Behind him, Max cursed and shook his fist. He held a section of the map in his hand.

Alex grimaced. He had just lost part of the map, but at least Kane’s goons were too big to follow him down the shaft.

“Now all I need to do is find a way out of here.”

Trinity was stuck. She had successfully stalled Magda Fischer, but John Kane was already on his way in. No telling what would happen if he and his goons found Alex searching the exhibit. But how could she extract herself from a conversation she had so assertively initiated?

“You are not like any fashion reporter I have ever met.” Magda’s gaze took in Trinity’s conservative dress.

“I’m not actually a fashion reporter, but that’s the sort of thing my editor expects me to write about.”

“He sounds like every director I have ever met.” Magda laughed brightly. “Is there anything more interesting you’d like to discuss?”

“What is your interest in the Orion Crowley exhibit?”

The light in Magda’s eyes dimmed, her smile froze in place. Trinity was treading on dangerous territory.

“Research for my next role,” Magda said. “The film is set in Egypt.”

“Is there anything specific you hope to gain from your visit to the museum? As an actor, I mean.” Trinity hastily tacked on the last.

Fischer paused, tilted her head, and looked to the sky. Finally, she smiled. “Direction,” was her cryptic reply. “Now, if you will excuse me, my friend is waiting.”

“Of course.” Trinity turned away, stole a glance toward the museum entrance, hoping to see Alex come walking out the door. But it was another friend who came hurrying out.

“Constance?” Their eyes met and Constance hurried over to her.

“We need to make tracks.” Constance took her by the elbow and tried to steer her in the direction of the street. “John Kane and his goons have started a commotion.”

“We can’t go. Alex is still in there.”

“I told him to hurry.” Constance closed her eyes, touched her fingertips to her forehead. “But there is nothing we can do for him. This is a disaster.”

“You’re with the Bureau. Show them your credentials, find Alex, and pretend to take him into custody.” Trinity took half a dozen steps in the direction of the museum before she realized Constance wasn’t following her. “What is the matter?”

“I do not exactly have permission to be here.” Constance’s cheeks turned a delicate shade of pink.

“Does Kane know that?”

No sooner had she spoken than John Kane appeared in the doorway, flanked by two wide, thick-necked men. The men were red-faced and had what looked like scorch marks on their suits. Kane pointed at the two women, said something, and his goons made a beeline for them.

“You’re right,” Trinity said. “There’s nothing we can do for Alex at the moment. Follow me.” She led the way to a shiny DeSoto CF Convertible.

“Alex’s car,” Constance said. “I don’t suppose you have the key?”

“I slipped it out of his pocket when he wasn’t paying attention. I wanted to make sure he didn’t chicken out and leave me behind.” She slipped behind the wheel and began fiddling with levers and switches.

“Do you see the irony?” Constance asked as she climbed in on the passenger side.

“Of course I do. Stop distracting me. The steps have to be taken in a certain sequence.”

“You had better hurry,” Constance said, looking back nervously. “Kane’s brunos are almost on us.”

“I’m just trying to remember the third step.”

“You’ve never driven this thing?”

“Not yet.” Trinity pressed a button, turned the key, and the engine roared to life just as Kane’s goons reached the DeSoto. Trinity hit the gas. With a squeal of burning rubber, they shot off down the street. One of the goons stopped. His partner took a flying leap and tumbled head over heels into the back seat of the convertible.

“I’m with the Burea. I order you to exit this vehicle.” Constance flashed her credentials at him.

“Do really think that’s going to work?” Trinity asked.

“It was worth a try.” From somewhere inside her dress, Constance produced a stiletto knife.

The big man grinned. “That’s a fine knife. But old Artie’s got a bigger one.”

Trinity glanced back to see Kane’s toady brandishing a knuckle knife, better known as the Mark 1 Trench Knife. It was a weapon from the Great War, designed for close fighting. Trinity hated that she knew even that much about the weapon. She had been spending too much time in the company of Brock Stone and his friends of late. But that was a problem for another day. Right now, she had Archie to deal with.

“Brace yourself,” she said to Constance.

“What are you doing?”

“You don’t want to know.”

The DeSoto was equipped with a powerful 8-cylinder engine, another bit of trivia she had absorbed since rekindling her relationship with Stone. Trinity tried to keep one eye on Artie and the other on the street as she hit the gas. Up ahead, a stopped tour bus blocked their lane. A steady flow of traffic clogged the oncoming lane, and the sidewalks were lousy with tourists and government workers. This was going to take some tricky maneuvering.

“Trinity, there’s nowhere to go!” Constance screamed.

Behind her, Artie climbed to his feet and raised his knife.

“You’re right.” Trinity gave the wheel a quick jerk to the left and then back. Artie wobbled, almost fell.

Trinity slammed on the brakes. The DeSoto screeched to a halt. Trinity slammed into the steering wheel, let out a pained grunt. Constance yelped as she was hurled into the front floorboard.

Artie wasn’t so fortunate.

The bull-necked man went Oxfords-over-Bowler as the DeSoto’s momentum sent him flying. With a reverberant thud, he struck the back of the bus in an inverted spread eagle. He seemed to hang there, suspended in midair for a split-second, before falling to the street.

Trinity took a moment to catch her breath. Beside her, Constance climbed back into the seat and smoothed her dress.

“Is he dead?” Constance asked.

Remarkably, the big man stirred. He sat up, gave a confused shake of his head.

“That’s impossible,” Constance said.

“Obviously not.” Trinity cranked the wheel, hit the gas, and made a U-turn in front of an oncoming taxi. The driver hit the horn and made a very ungentlemanly gesture.

“Woman driver!” he shouted.

Trinity’s first instinct was to stop the car, get out, and give him a piece of her mind, but there was no time for that. Up ahead, a familiar vehicle was barreling toward them. Another of Kane’s simian thugs was squeezed in behind the wheel.

“We’ve got another problem,” Trinity said. “That is John Kane’s limousine.”

Constance looked back. “Archie is on his feet and he’s coming this way. He’s wobbling, but still moving. And he looks angry.”

Trinity considered her options. Traffic had them boxed in, and the two of them couldn’t fight these thugs.

“Trinity?” Constance said. “Maybe it’s time to run?”

Trinity set her jaw. “Yes, but not on foot.”

Alex saw a glimmer of sunlight up ahead and breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps he had finally found a way out of this ventilation shaft. It couldn’t come too soon. He felt claustrophobic within these tight quarters. Encouraged, he scurried forward flat on his belly.

He could see it now — a vent leading outside. He could work it free and, if worse came to worst, use his hook to lower himself to the ground. Either way, he would be out of the museum with most of the map.

“It’s something, anyway.”

He caught a whiff of fresh, warm air. He was almost there. And then he felt the vent shift.

“Uh oh!” Alex braced himself.

With a metallic squeak, the panel beath him gave way. He let out a shout and then he was falling. He crashed through ceiling tiles, felt something briefly arrest his fall. A moment later the sound of ripping fabric filled his ears and he dropped like a rock.

He landed hard and his breath fled his body. He groaned and rolled over on his back. Above him he saw spars, rigging, and tattered sails.

“Where am I?”

He heard the hollow echo of running footsteps, which slowed as they approached. Keeping low, he sat up and looked around.

He was inside a pirate ship. It hung suspended from the ceiling by thick cables. Its sails had slowed his fall. Something dark fluttered down and landed on his shoulders. A Jolly Roger flag. He couldn’t help but chuckle. What were the odds?

“What is it, Lincoln?” a voice said.

“The pirate ship is moving, Mister Jones,” a second voice said.

“Moving? What do you mean?”

“It’s swinging, like something pushed it, sir.”

“Nothing pushed it,” the man called Jones said. “We reopen to the public as soon as Mister Kane leaves. You have things to do.”

“They say the ship is haunted,” Lincoln replied doubtfully.

“That’s nonsense. You’re looking for an excuse to slack. Get to work.”

Alex listened to the sound of footsteps walking away, then he stood and peered over the gunwale of the ship. Down below, someone let out a gasp.

A stout, moon-faced man clad in coveralls gaped at him. He held a broom loosely in one hand. The name Lincoln was stitched on the man’s left breast. Only Jones had left.

“Lord Jesus, it’s true.” Lincoln let his broom fall to the floor, turned, and fled.

Alex looked around for whatever had spooked Lincoln, but he saw nothing. And then he glanced down at his own hooked hand and thought about the pirate flag draped over him. Finally, he understood. He threw back his head and laughed.

“I’ve been called a lot of things in my time, but ghost pirate was never one of them.”

He shimmied down an anchor rope to the ground. He paused to listen, then headed toward the exit. He was just around the corner from the atrium and the main entryway when he heard voices speaking in sharp, hushed tones. He peered around the corner and spotted Magda Fischer talking to John Kane.

“…don’t understand why you’re so upset,” Fischer said.

“That reporter gave you a false name,” Kane snapped. “She’s really called Trinity Paige, and she’s trouble.”

“Why would she lie to me?”

“I don’t know, but I mean to find out.” Kane signaled to some of his goon squad, and they headed for the door.

Alex wouldn’t be getting out that way any time soon. He ducked through a door marked PRIVATE. To his relief, it was an office with a window. He was about to climb through when he heard Kane and Fischer talking.

“He didn’t take the canopic jars,” Fischer said. There was a long pause before she spoke again. “The heart of the Night Queen.”

Alex frowned. Had he heard that correctly?

“They’re useless unless we know where we’re going,” Kane said.

Fischer said something in a placating voice, and then Kane spoke again.

“What’s the situation, Max? Did you catch him?”

“No, Mister Kane. We lost him.”

Kane uttered a curse.

“Did you get a look at him?” Fischer asked.

“He was tall, skinny, and pale, with red hair. And he had a hook where his left hand should be.”

“And the reporter?” Kane asked.

“She and the girl from the Bureau drove away. Artie went after them.”

“They were all in on this together?” Kane swore again. “Is there any good news?”

“A small piece. Literally.” Max sounded nervous.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“The red-haired man discovered a paper hidden in a secret compartment inside Orion’s cane. It tore when we tried to take it from him. We have a piece of it.”

“What is this? Some sort of riddle?” Kane said. “Here Magda, see what you can make of it.”

Alex kept a small pencil and notepad in his pocket for those moments he had an idea or insight he didn’t want to forget. He took them out and scribbled down Fischer’s words.

The words were followed by a series of numbers which Alex jotted down.

“We’re going to need the rest of the paper,” Fischer said.

“I think I can help there,” Kane said. “Miss Paige works for the Washington Scribe. I’ll send some men to have a talk with her.”

The way he said the word ‘talk’ chilled Alex to the bone. He needed to find Trinity and warn her right away. He clambered out the window and closed it behind him. Ten seconds later, he was on the street-jJust in time to see a sleek, black convertible come roaring up the grass strip that lay between the museum and the Smithsonian Castle. Trinity was at the wheel, Constance in the passenger seat.

“That’s my car.”

A black limousine was giving chase. Farther down the way, Kane’s thug Artie was limping along, swearing and shaking his fist. Shocked tourists poured across the street to give him a wide berth.

Alex’s shoulders sagged.

“Out of the frying pan and into the fire.”

Alex watched as Trinity turned onto the grass and headed in the direction of the Smithsonian Castle. The convertible fishtailed and skidded as it shot along the manicured lawn. The limousine followed.

Alex sprinted out onto the mall, aiming to cut them off. He waved his arms, but Trinity and Constance took no notice. To them, he must have looked like another angry pedestrian. They zipped past him in a shiny black blur.

The limousine was closing in on them. A pistol appeared out the driver’s side window. The driver leveled it at the fleeing DeSoto. Alex did the only thing he could think of. He took aim with his hook and fired.

It was a perfectly aimed shot. It knocked the pistol out of the driver’s hand. Unfortunately, the hook caught on the door handle.

“Uh oh.”

Alex was yanked off his feet and dragged across the soft grass. The Desoto skidded into a hairpin turn in front of the castle and headed back in the direction of the museum. The limousine driver made a wide turn and Alex slid in a wide arc. He fought to free himself, but he had designed the hook too well. It held tight.

As he swung wide, he caught a glimpse of more men in dark suits running out of the museum and onto the lawn. A few seconds later, he heard gunshots and the sound of breaking glass.

The DeSoto made a sharp turn and the limousine followed suit. Once again Alex was swept across the slick grass, toward the sound of gunfire. He had a moment to catch a glimpse of three surprised gunmen, and then the cable attached to his hook cut their ankles out from underneath them and sent them tumbling like bowling pins.

“Picked up the spare!” Alex said.

Bullets flew in every direction. Pedestrians screamed. The limousine fishtailed and then slammed into an old oak tree.

Alex slid to a halt on the soft ground. His bones felt like broken glass. He climbed to his feet and looked down at his ruined suit. His jacket was torn to ribbons, his white shirt streaked with green.

“Are you all right?” a bystander shouted.

“Just peachy.” Alex hobbled over to the limo and freed his hook before retracting it. The driver lay slumped against the steering wheel. Blood trickled from his ears and nose.

“Have a nice nap,” Alex said. He looked around for Trinity and Constance. The DeSoto was farther down the mall, being chased by men on foot.

“Get yourselves out of here, ladies,” he said under his breath.

“They say talking to yourself means you’re crazy,” a voice said behind him.

Alex turned to see the goon named Max standing behind him. Before he could react, the man seized him by the wrist in a powerful grip. His hands were huge!

“And you’d have to be crazy to steal from John Kane,” the thug continued.

“I didn’t steal anything. And last I heard, John Kane doesn’t own the museum, nor its contents.”

“Don’t get clever.”

“I can’t help it. I have a superior brain.” He gulped as the big bruno grabbed him around the neck.

“If I squeeze hard enough, those clever brains will pop right out of the top of your skull.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works,” Alex wheezed.

“He thinks he’s funny.” Artie, Max’s partner, staggered up to them. “Give him a smack.”

“You all right, Artie?” Max asked.

“Been better, been worse.” Archie cracked his knuckles. “I’m in the mood to hit somebody. I suppose Ginger will do.”

“Don’t rough him up too much. Mister Kane will want to question him.”

Alex thought fast, considered his options. There had to be a way out, but he couldn’t see it. Down the mall, Kane’s men had broken off their pursuit of Trinity and Constance and were headed this way. He was about to be severely outnumbered. Not that he was a match, physically, for either of these toughs.

“Let’s not be hasty, fellows,” Alex wheezed. “I can be of help to you.”

“As a punching bag.” Archie grinned.

The roar of an engine startled the three men. They looked to see a powerfully built man on an Indian Scout motorcycle come flying toward them. Alex seized the moment. He drove his knee into Karl’s groin. The big man barely flinched but he loosened his grip enough for Alex to break free and run.

The rider dropped his motorcycle into a skid, upended the surprised thugs, who fell flat on their faces. Before they could recover, the man righted his bike, caught up to Alex, and slowed his bike enough for him to hop on back. He gunned the engine and they left Kane’s thugs in their dust.

“It’s about time you made it,” Alex said to Brock Stone.

“I came as soon as I got your message. Why did you come alone when you knew John Kane would be here?”

“Trinity,” Alex said simply. It was all he needed to say.

Stone laughed and gave a shake of his head. “I understand. Sometimes you don’t get a choice.”

The Rive Gauche, or Left Bank, was the home to thriving art and literary scenes. Here, writers like Ernest Hemingway and F. Scott Fitzgerald mingled with visual artists like Marc Chagall and Pablo Picasso. The Left Bank was also brimming with cafés and brasseries. Stone wished he had time to sample them at his leisure.

“Only a few more months until your enlistment ends,” he reminded himself. “Then you get to make your own choices. Until then focus on the mission.”

His thoughts focused and his emotions in check, Stone glanced at his watch. One minute until his ride arrived. Stone hurried across the street and stopped in front of the Café Caderousse. He looked up and down the street, wondering how he was supposed to recognize this Marengo person who was supposed to be his next contact.

A horse-drawn carriage drew up to the curb and stopped in front of him. The driver, a broad-shouldered, thick necked man, seemed to be avoiding Stone’s gaze.

“Ahem.” The carriage’s lone passenger was a nattily dressed man with a lemon-sucking frown. He too did not meet Stone’s eye. “Would you care for a ride, sir.”

“No thank you. I’m waiting for someone.”

“Ahem!” The man pointed down at the side of the carriage. The words Calèches Marengo were painted on the side above a silhouette of Napoleon on horseback.

Stone gritted his teeth, felt his ears burn. He should have remembered Napoleon’s horse was named Marengo. Seeing no way to recover from his faux pas, he climbed into the carriage and sat facing straight ahead. The driver flicked the reins and the carriage rolled out into traffic.

“I believe you dropped this.” The man handed Stone an envelope. “Read it and memorize it.”

Stone opened the envelope. Inside was a single sheet of paper. His typewritten orders were summed up in four smudged lines.

“Any questions?”

“I am to eliminate my contact at the end of the mission?” That couldn’t be right.

“Correct. But only after you have acquired the prize. Afterward, call that number and you will be collected.”

“I am not an assassin,” Stone said.

“You are a soldier in an ongoing war. Your target is working with the enemy.”

“I have never killed someone in cold blood.” Stone gave a slow shake of his head.

“If the enemy gets its hands on the prize, the consequences would be dire for every American. In a way, it’s an act of self-defense.”

“Did you warm up and stretch before you performed those mental gymnastics?”

Up front, the driver chuckled. Lemon Face was not amused. “That is an order, soldier. Are you refusing?”

“I’m only required to obey a lawful order.”

“Understood. You can discuss it at your court martial. I will have to take you into custody. It could be as much as a year before you are sent back to America, and then several more months before you come to trial. And you know what happens if you are found guilty. With all that at stake, what’s one more kill?”

Stone wanted to choke the man. Of course he was not willing to risk life imprisonment or execution. Even if the judgement went his way, it was clear his superiors would use every trick in the book to delay justice.

“Or you can obey this lawful order, and your enlistment will end in September as scheduled.”

“As long as it’s lawful,” Stone said to the floor.

“There’s a good man. You have been studying Ancient Egyptian?”

“As much as I could in the time I was given. I brought a dictionary with me.” Stone knew it would be a waste of time to ask why it was necessary.

“Have you memorized what’s on that paper?” He pointed at Stone’s orders.

“Yes.”

Lemon Face smirked. “Eat it.”

Stone frowned. “Are you serious?”

“I never joke. In fact, I have no discernible sense of humor.”

The driver laughed again.

“I don’t suppose you have anything to drink?” Stone asked.

“I left my teapot at home.” So, Lemon Face did have a sense of humor. Only it was dry as the Sahara Desert.

Stone wadded up the paper, popped it in his mouth, and dry swallowed. It felt like a lump stuck in his throat.

“The envelope, too.”

Stone didn’t bother to argue. It took some time, but he managed to chew up the envelope and choke it down. He cast longing eyes upon the Seine and wished for a glass of water.

“Any more questions?”

“What is the prize?” Stone asked. “It might help if I know what I’m looking for.”

“Your contact knows and that is enough.”

The carriage stopped in front of the Jardin des Plantes, the famed botanical garden. Stone hopped out and waved to the driver.

“Thanks for the ride, Mister.”

“You’re welcome,” the man said, still looking straight ahead. “By the way, you didn’t really have to eat the envelope.” He barked another laugh and flicked the reins, setting the horse in motion.

Stone glared at the back of the carriage as it drove away. The end of this mission could not come soon enough.

Riverbend was the name old Georgian Colonial mansion Stone had inherited from his grandfather, Samuel Stone. The three-story brick home stood on a rise looking down on the Potomac. Surrounded by forest, it could not be seen from the road. Few would suspect that a mansion lay at the end of the winding dirt drive.

When they reached Stone’s home, Alex hopped off the bike and walked ahead of them up the driveway, pausing the security features he had installed. The previous year, John Kane had sent one of his goons to Riverbend in an attempt to murder Stone. After that, Alex applied his considerable skills to developing a variety of defenses to keep unwanted intruders away.

Once inside the mansion, they made their way down to the secret library where Samuel Stone concealed his treasures. It was an amazing room filled with books, documents, artifacts, and numerous hidden compartments and secret vaults. Samuel Stone had not bothered to tell his grandson about any of them. Instead, the old man had left clues for Brock to follow. It was just like the old man to create a quest to make his grandson prove his worth.

“Let’s take a look at your map,” Stone said to Alex. They spread it out on a table and used old books to hold down the corners. The map showed a river, an island, an obelisk, and a pyramid. Other places on the map were marked with symbols. They examined the map at length. Nothing was labeled, nor was there a compass rose to show which way was north.

“How are we ever going to find out where this place is?” Constance asked.

“It’s got to be somewhere in Egypt,” Alex said.

“Thank you for stating the obvious.” Sarcasm dripped from Constance’s words.

“Can the two of you please snipe at one another on your own time?” Trinity said. “You are beginning to annoy.”

“I could make the same request of you and Stone almost every day.” Alex grinned.

“I do not snipe. I merely correct Brock when he needs it.”

“Which is apparently all the time.” Stone winked to show he was joking. Trinity replied with an arched eyebrow and a cold stare.

“This is no ancient scroll. The paper is fairly new. I believe Orion Crowley drew this map,” Stone said. “But where does it lead?”

“If we assume the river is the Nile, we can search for this bend in the river,” Trinity said. “This island is distinctive in shape. Perhaps we can match it up and then look for the pyramid.”

“And the obelisk.” Alex tapped the map. “Of course, there are a lot of obelisks in Egypt so that might not be of much help.”

Moses entered the library, carrying a steaming mug of coffee. He paused, scanned the map. “Somebody taking a tour of the city?” he asked.

“What are you talking about,” Trinity asked.

“Ain’t that the Washington Monument?” He pointed to the obelisk. “That there is Roosevelt Island for sure. And that’s the Lincoln Memorial.” He pointed to the pyramid.

“The Lincoln Memorial isn’t a pyramid,” Alex said.

“It was planned to be, but it was changed at the last minute,” Constance said. “The original designs are on display. It’s fascinating how much influence Egypt had on Colonial Architecture.”

“That’s because all the people in charge back then was Illuminati,” Moses said.

“Maybe,” Stone said, “but I think you’re spot-on about the map. Brilliant!”

“Why would Orion draw a map of the city and hide it inside his cane?” Alex asked.

“To find the answer to that question, I guess we’ll have to follow the clues. Tell us again what you overheard,” Stone said to Alex.

“I heard Fischer say something about canopic jars and the heart of the Night Queen.”

“I don’t know that name.” He frowned, remembering something else Alex had said. “Are you certain she said the heart?” He glanced at Alex, who nodded. “That’s odd. When you searched the exhibit, did you happen to notice the jars?”

“Yes, there were five of them.”

“Five? Strange indeed. Traditionally, there were four jars — one each for the liver, lungs, stomach, and intestines. The heart was believed to contain the spirit of the deceased, so it remained with the body.”

“Why did they put their internal organs in jars?” Constance asked.

“To preserve them for the afterlife.” He turned to Alex. “What else did you hear?”

“There was something written on the lost corner of the map. A riddle or clue of some sort.” Alex took out a scrap of paper, cleared his throat, but before he could begin, Constance snatched the paper from him and read aloud.

“In the eye of the Star

Established in Strength and Wisdom

Within the pontiff’s great temple

Beneath the seat of Apollo”

“And then there are some numbers,” Constance finished.

“What in the world does that mean?” Alex asked. “Maybe be the Vatican?:

“The Vatican certainly fits the clue ‘within the pontiff’s temple’,” Constance mused. “Established in strength and wisdom fits, presuming one views the Church in a favorable light. In the Bible, the star symbolizes Christ.”

“And Lucifer,” Moses offered.

“That’s a comforting thought,” Alex said. “Might the numbers be map coordinates?”

“You’re all forgetting something very important,” Trinity said.

“What is that?” Constance sounded annoyed.

“We have already determined that this is a map of Washington. And now that I have heard the clues, I think I know the place we are looking for.” She picked up a pencil, bit her lip as she concentrated on the map.

“Are you planning on sharing with the group?” Constance asked.

Trinity ignored her. After a few more seconds of thought, she marked five locations on the map.

“It’s a pentagon,” Constance said.

“That’s one possibility, but here is another.” From each point, she drew a line to a spot in the middle, then drew a circle around that spot. “See? A star.”

“A Seba.” Stone remembered exactly when and where he had last seen that symbol. And what he had done that night.

“Earth to Stone,” Alex said.

Stone blinked. “Sorry. A Seba is an ancient Egyptian star emblem. The star represents the gods. The circle symbolizes the passage into the Underworld.” He frowned. “Trinity, what is this spot you’ve marked?”

“The House of the Temple.” A note of triumph resounded in her voice.

Stone knew the place. It was the Masonic headquarters of the American South and it was rumored to contain more than its share of secrets.

“It’s a place I researched when digging into John Kane’s connections to the Illuminati,” Trinity said. “It all fits. Orion was a Freemason. ‘In the eye of the star,’ would be the Seba.” She tapped the map. “Outside the temple are two sphinx statues. Guess what they are called?”

“Strength and Wisdom?” Moses said.

“Got it in one. And the word ‘established’ is written in hieroglyphics on the side of each.”

“Where does the pontiff fit in?” Constance asked.

“The building was designed by John Russell Pope!” Stone said.

“Exactly,” Trinity said dryly. “And stop interrupting.” She flashed him a wink and smiled.

“You’re right,” Stone said. “You figured it out first. Please continue.”

“Inside the temple is a seat carved into the marble overlook. with the words ‘Know Thyself’ written on it, which is one of the maxims inscribed on the pediment of the temple of Apollo at Delphi.”

Stone looked at the numbers written beneath the clue and he had an idea. “The temple is known for its library. Lots of old and rare items, maybe even some things kept hidden. What if these are call numbers?”

“We’re looking for a book?”

“Or something hidden beside or inside a book.”

“Brilliant!” Alex said. “But how are we going to break into a place that many believe is an Illuminati stronghold?”

Moses cleared his throat. Everyone turned to look at him.

“I believe I can help y’all with that.”

Two hours later, they stood on Constitution Avenue, a street that, until two years ago, had been known as B Street. A Marble Statue of Abraham Lincoln loomed over them. It was much smaller than the Lincoln Memorial. From the base of the pedestal to the top of Lincoln’s head, it could be no more than fifteen feet tall.

“I don’t remember seeing this statue before,” Alex said.

“It’s not very well known,” Stone said. “Hasn’t been here more than ten years.” He turned to Moses. “Where is the tunnel entrance you mentioned?”

Moses had told them about a series of interconnected tunnels, drains, and passageways that ran beneath Washington D.C. Some of them had been used by slaves, and today they served as a means of escape in the event someone needed to hide in a hurry.

Moses pointed to a nearby manhole. “Through the storm drain.” He looked around to make sure no one was watching, but at this late hour the streets were almost empty. Then, he removed the cover and dropped down into the tunnel.

“How about I wait here and keep watch?” Alex cast a nervous glance down into the hole.

“Waste of time. We’ll be out of earshot in half a minute,” Moses called from the darkness.

“Do I need to give you a push?” Stone kidded.

“No.” Alex heaved a sigh and followed his friend.

Stone brought up the rear, replacing the manhole cover behind them.

They crawled through mud and stagnant water for about a hundred feet until Moses called a halt. He shined his flashlight beam to the left, where large cracks ran down the side of the drain.

“This part can be moved,” he explained. “Just got to give it a good push.”

“Stone can do it,” Alex said. “He’s the brawn, I’m the brains.”

“Remind me which one of us put salt in his coffee instead of sugar… twice,” Stone said.

“That has nothing to do with intelligence. My mind was merely concentrating on more important matters.”

“Some time in a monastery would teach you to focus,” Stone said.

“A monastery? Is that where you were all those years?”

Stone didn’t answer. After leaving the service, he had fallen out of touch with the people he cared about most. He neither liked to talk about it nor knew how to explain what he had done and why. Trinity never stopped trying to catch him off guard with unexpected questions about his “lost years”, but Alex usually left the subject alone.

He worked his fingers into the cracks and pulled. A section of wall slid forward. He squeezed through feet first and dropped down into a brick-lined passageway. The air was damp and chilly and smelled like old socks, but the ceiling was high enough for him to stand.

“How many places can you get to from here?” Alex asked.

“A whole mess,” Moses said. “Ford’s Theater, Lincoln Memorial, even the capitol building.”

While Alex worried aloud about the condition of the crumbling bricks, Stone committed every turn to memory, made a mental note of each side passage.

They finally halted at a T-junction. Moses looked around. “I ain’t been here before, but I’m told the way up to the temple is behind the eye.”

“What does that mean?” Alex asked.

Moses shrugged. “That’s all I know.”

Stone looked around, examining each brick in turn. Finally, he spotted an anomaly — a brick with an indentation at the center. He wiped away the grime to reveal a triangle with an eye at the center.

“The Eye of Providence,” he said. “The symbol of the Illuminati.” He pressed the brick and a section of wall slid down into the ground. Dusty stairsteps wound upward.

“Want me to wait here for you?” Moses asked.

“I’d like for you to go back to Riverbend and keep an eye on Trinity in case Kane is foolish enough to send his goons after us again.”

They bade one another goodbye, then Stone and Alex climbed the stairs. After a short climb, they found themselves at a trapdoor.

“What do you think is on the other side?” Alex asked. “What happens if we pop up in the middle of some weird ritual?”

“If that happens, we play dumb, say we got lost in an underground passageway. Should that not work, you hightail it out of there and I’ll cover your back. But it’s the middle of the night. Hopefully, the temple will be empty.”

He gave the door a push.

Nothing.

A little more force and with a rusty squeak that sounded like a scream in the quiet night, the trapdoor opened. Alex flicked on his flashlight to reveal stacks of old crates, coated in a layer of dust.

“It’s some kind of storeroom, but it looks like it hasn’t been touched for some time,” Stone said.

“All the better for us.”

The storeroom door opened into a small office. When they stepped inside and closed the door, they discovered it was cleverly hidden behind a bookcase that moved on invisible wheels as the door swung back. With a click, the door locked into place.

“Why conceal a storeroom entrance?” Alex asked.

“The Freemasons love secrets and mysteries. Perhaps someone installed it for their own amusement.” Stone scratched his chin, thinking. “The House of the Temple is not quite twenty years old. That means someone knew about the secret passageway and installed the trapdoor for access.”

“Elements of the Illuminati within the ranks of the Masons?” Alex asked.

“That’s what I’m thinking.”

Despite their stealth, their footsteps echoed in the marble-lined hallways. They passed through the Temple Room. Moonlight shone through the oculus a hundred feet above them, illuminating the altar at the center of the chamber. They reached the library in short order. The door was locked but Alex picked it with ease.

The numbers Lincoln had overheard led them to a shelf in the back corner. The book in question was titled Gods and Kings of Ancient Egypt. Alex flipped through it.

“I don’t see anything in here. I guess they aren’t call numbers after all.”

Stone climbed up, examined the spot where the book had been. He saw nothing. He rapped on it but it felt solid. He frowned. If they aren’t call numbers, what are they?

He closed his eyes and carefully ran his fingers across the smooth wooden shelf. When he had first been taken to the monastery, he had been locked in a pitch-black room, where he was trained to utilize his other senses. They had been sharpened to a fine point. He had refined his sense of touch until he could make out a word inscribed on a single grain of rice.

There it was! The slightest imperfection in the surface. It was a raised circle no larger than a penny. He shined his light on it and saw it was expertly camouflaged by a knot in the wood. He pressed it, and a tiny compartment opened in the wall behind the shelf. He removed a small object wrapped in cloth. He removed the cloth to reveal a tiny marble figurine carved in exquisite detail. It had the body of a human and the head of a crocodile. It clutched a knife and flail in its clawed hands.

“What is it?” Alex asked.

“It’s an ushabti,” Stone said. “A figurine placed in an Egyptian tomb to act as a servant in the afterlife.”

“Why would Orion put it here instead of leaving it in his secret office?”

“Maybe he suspected his secret office wasn’t so secret.” Stone scratched his chin. “But who was he hiding it from?”

A distant sound caught Stone’s attention. He turned toward the door and frowned. Someone was unlocking a door somewhere in the temple.

“Something wrong?” Alex instinctively lowered his voice to a whisper.

“Someone’s inside the building. I heard a door and now footsteps. More than one person. Three or four would be my guess.”

“You and your supersonic hearing. I swear you have bat ears. What do you say we make like dynamite and blow this joint?”

They left the library and crept along the dark hallway. The footsteps were coming closer. Stone grimaced. The newcomers were blocking the way to the storeroom that led to the passageway. Perhaps that meant the front door was unguarded.

They hurried away in the other direction. Alex glanced back over his shoulder.

“Kane just turned the corner. He’s got a couple of brunos with him.”

Stone grabbed his friend by the arm and hauled him into the nearest room. He handed him the object they had found in the library.

“I’ll lead them away. Hide here until they’re out of sight, then make your way back to the passageway.”

“I’ll never find my way back,” Alex said.

“The front door, then. Just wait for me to cause a distraction.”

“We tried that in High School when we pulled that prank on Mr. Green. Remember what happened?”

“It’s not my fault you ducked into the ladies’ room by mistake.”

“That was a good day.” Alex smiled dreamily. Stone lightly smacked him on the side of the head. “Ouch!”

“Focus,” Stone said. “Are you ready?”

“I suppose.” Alex looked like he was going to be sick.” He took a deep breath, gave a firm nod. “Get on with it.”

Stone stepped out into the hallway. Kane and his thick-necked lackeys froze.

“Who are you?” Kane asked.

“Cleaning crew,” Stone said. “Just finished up.”

Kane wasn’t buying it. The brunos looked at him, questioning. “Bring him here,” Kane snapped. The big men made a dash for Stone.

Stone had played running back at Virginia Military Academy and hadn’t lost a step over the years. He took off at a slow run, letting his pursuers close the gap between them just enough to give them hope of catching him. He led them on a merry chase through the slippery marble-lined hallways. It wasn’t long before the men were gasping for breath. Stone picked up his pace and left them behind.

He emerged into a broad, marble-lined hallway

Someone stepped out of the shadows up ahead. From the size of him, he presumed it was another of Kane’s goons.

The man aimed a pistol at Stone.

Alex waited for the sound of running feet to subside before he left his hiding place. He turned and found himself face-to-face with John Kane. There was no time to react. Kane punched him square in the jaw.

Alex’s knees wobbled and he staggered back a few steps. Kane was on him in an instant. Alex tried to fight him, but he was a boxer, not a brawler. He quickly found himself caught in a chokehold.

“Where is it?” Kane’s breath smelled of cloves and black coffee.

“What?” Alex rasped.

“The map you stole from the museum, for starters. And whatever you took from here.”

“Don’t… know… what… you’re…” His sentence squelched to a premature end as Kane tightened his hold.

“Tell it to Sweeney,” Kane said. It was a common saying that meant, ‘tell your tale to someone dumb enough to believe you.’ “My patience is wearing thin.”

“Gave… map to… the Bureau.”

“The blonde girl who was at the museum?” Kane caught on fast. “Are you in on it together?”

“She got… caught up… in my scheme,” Alex said.

“If the Bureau has the map, I’ll know soon enough.” What did he mean by that? Bribes? Or did Kane have spies planted within the Bureau’s ranks? “Tell me what you expected to find here tonight?”

Alex tried to reply but he could not form the words. The supply of blood to his brain had been severely restricted. He would lose consciousness soon. Kane let off the pressure a little bit.

“I heard a rumor that the Illuminati have maps of Egypt in their secret library.” His voice sounded like wet sandpaper. “I hoped to match it up with the map from the museum.”

“So it is a map of Egypt!” There was a note of triumph in Kane’s voice that made Alex want to smile. Alex was getting good at inventing stories on the fly. “But you said you gave it to the Bureau.”

Alex wasn’t sure what to say. He faked a cough and grabbed his throat to buy himself time. A moment later, Kane hauled him to his feet and began patting him down like a copper making an arrest. As he searched Alex’s pockets, he continued to speak.

“You’re a fool, you know that? I happen to know for certain the Illuminati has no secret library here.” He paused when his hand found the hard lump that was the book Alex had taken from the library. “What’s this.”

“A book. It was the only thing I found that had a map of Egypt in it.” It was true. There was a rough map of Egypt at the front of the book, but it lacked detail.

Kane turned to the map and barked a scornful laugh. “This is useless.”

Alex shrugged. “I didn’t have time to really look at it.”

Kane flipped through the book, turned it over and shook it. Nothing fell out. Shaking his head, he thrust the book back into Alex’s hands and continued his search. He started out at Alex’s ankle and patted his way up his trousers.

“Buy a man a drink first, sailor,” Alex said.

“You don’t appear to be carrying anything.” Kane narrowed his eyes as if taking Alex’s measure. “But I still don’t believe you. I think I’ll have my boys rough you up a little in case there’s something you forgot to tell me. If that doesn’t work, we’ll cut off your eyelids.” It was easy to tell he wasn’t lying. The indifference to the suffering of others was apparent.

Alex was running out of time. He had swapped out his grappling hook hand for a plain one, so firing the hook at Kane was not an option. He had one play left.

“I did find a map. It’s in my shoe.”

“Take it out. Don’t make any sudden moves and I might not kill you.”

Alex knelt and started to unlace his shoe. He wore a pair of black leather Skips — hi-top sneakers with rubber soles. But there was something special hidden inside.

The gadget he carried with him was one of his simpler creations. It was a short metal tube, about the circumference of a drinking straw. It operated like a blowgun, but it was spring-powered and only good at close range. It fired a needle coated with a powerful tranquilizer. It only had one round. Alex needed to be fast.

“Shake a leg.” Kane prodded him with the tip of his Oxford.

“Just trying to work this knot free.” His fingertips closed around the dart gun. He was dizzy from fear and adrenaline. If this didn’t work, he was a dead man.

This is for all the marbles.

Alex gave the base a twist to release the safety. Before he could change his mind, he sprang to his feet and swung his hook at Kane’s head. Kane blocked the attack with disdainful ease.

“That was the stupidest thing you…” Kane began.

Alex sent a puff of air through the blowgun. Kane flinched as the tiny needle pierced his neck. He frowned and slapped at it, thinking it was an insect. The blow drove the needle all the way in. His eyes went wide.

“What did you do to me?” His words were slurred. The tranquilizer was already taking effect.

“A great deal less than you deserve.” With that, Alex gave Kane a hard shove. The dazed man wobbled and fell. “Pleasant dreams.”

Alex took off at a dead sprint. Now, all he had to do was find the front door.

Stone dodged to the left as the weapon fired. The report of the pistol reverberated through the corridor. The bullet pinged off the marble floor and ricocheted off the ceiling. Kane’s henchmen blocked both exits. Stone saw only one option, so he took it. He made a dash for a concealed door at the corner of the room. Its location was one of the few things he had been able to learn about the temple in his reading.

Gunshots boomed. Bullets sizzled through the air, bouncing this way and that. He shouldered through the door and made a dash up a narrow spiral staircase. At the top, a door opened up onto the roof. No sense getting trapped there. Stone pushed it open, then headed in the other direction.

It didn’t fool the thugs. They took one glance out the door and then they were hot on his tail again.

Through another doorway and Stone found himself standing at a glistening square of glass — the oculus that looked down onto the Temple Room.

Kane’s thugs were now hot on his heels. He made a run for the oculus, reached the edge, and jumped. The long jump had never been his strong suit, but he was an athlete, and the leap, while a long one, was not beyond his abilities.

Or so he thought.

He fell just short of his target, landing on the oculus where two glass panels met at a metal crossbeam. There was an angry shriek as the framework gave way beneath his weight. But it held enough for him to make it.

Kane’s men were not so fortunate. Fueled by rage, eyes locked on Stone, they never noticed where they were running. The sound of breaking glass filled the air. Shouts of surprise turned to screams of abject terror. The sounds died seconds later when the thugs struck the marble floor far below.

Stone skidded down the sloped roof of the top level and dropped down onto the narrow ledge that ran all the way around the temple. It was still a long way down, but he had no other choice. He turned, slipped over the ledge, and dangled there by his fingertips.

Time seemed to freeze as he hung between life and death. In the distance, the Washington Monument glistened in the moonlight. He heard a shout from below him and looked down to see Alex.

“Let go. I’ll break your fall,” Alex said.

“You’ll break your back trying to catch me.”

A shot rang out. A bullet struck the ledge an inch from his hand. One of Kane’s thugs had not fallen for Stone’s trick. Another shot, another near miss.

Stone said a prayer and released his grip. He felt like he was falling forever, and then a jolt of pain shot up his spine as he struck the ground. Groaning, he clambered to his feet.

“Let’s go.” He and Alex ducked behind the columns where they could not be seen, sprinted around the corner, and dashed across the street.

Kane’s thug fired one more shot before his cylinder was dry. He spewed invectives and described the graphic punishment he would deal out when he finally caught them.

As they ran, Alex filled him in on his encounter with Stone. By the time he had finished, they felt safe walking.

“I don’t understand,” Stone said. “Why didn’t Kane find the ushabti when he searched you?”

“Secret hiding place.” Alex grinned and removed his hook. Tucked inside was the cloth-wrapped figurine. “He never thought to look under the hook.”

“Have I told you you’re a genius?” Stone said. His friend never failed to impress with his inventiveness.

“I know.” Alex winked. “But it’s nice to hear all the same.”

The hour was growing late. Trinity rubbed her tired eyes, took another book from Stone’s library, and began thumbing through. The collection Samuel Stone had accumulated was expansive, with many volumes on the topic of Egypt. She and Constance had spent the hours since the men had left searching for mention of the Night Queen.

“I found it!” Trinity sprang to her feet, her drowsiness washed away by her moment of triumph. The book was titled The Secrets of the Royal Road. It was an esoteric take on Egyptian history. The author, Klaus Krueger, believed that Egypt was founded by refugees from the sunken city of Atlantis. The Atlanteans, he claimed, had brought with them advanced technology and knowledge of real magic. Someone, probably Samuel Stone, had jotted notes in the margin throughout the book.

“What does Grandfather Stone have to say on the subject?” Constance asked.

“Yineput, better knowns as the Night Queen was a self-proclaimed pharaoh of the Third Dynasty, 2,600 years before the Birth of Christ, who claimed to be the incarnation of the Goddess Sekhmet. She raised an army of monstrous warriors under her thrall, and a black cloud swept across the land.”

“A cloud like a plague? Poison gas?” Constance asked. “I can see why the Nazis would be interested in either one. Then again, it could be a metaphor.”

Trinity nodded, continued reading. “It was feared she would conquer all of Egypt. Finally, her army was defeated and the Night Queen killed. The Pharaoh ordered her organs, including her heart, burned, but her adherents made away with them, along with her body. The organs were placed in canopic jars, separated, and hidden in five secret locations across Egypt. It is said she was entombed beneath a pyramid in the desert, where she waits for resurrection.”

“How did they stop her?” Constance asked.

“It doesn’t say. After her defeat, the Egyptians and Nubians did their best to eradicate all mention of her from history. Many have searched for her final resting place. Most never returned. No one has found it.”

Trinity frowned. “How did Orion get his hands on the canopic jars?”

Constance thought for a minute, then her eyes brightened. “It must have been through the expeditions he funded and the donations he made to museums.”

Footsteps thudded on the stairs and then Stone and Alex entered the library. Alex was beaming.

“We found something!” He held up a small figurine.

“May I see that?” Trinity didn’t wait for an answer but took the figure from him and examined it. The figure was that of a man with the head of a crocodile. “What is the significance of this?”

“No idea,” Stone said. “Did the two of you find anything?”

Trinity and Constance filled them in on what they had found in his grandfather’s notes. Stone took a thick tome from the shelf. Its leather spine was cracked, its pages yellowed. He carefully flipped through until he came to a chapter titled, “Sekhmet- The Lady of Terror.” On the facing page was a faded illustration of the goddess. She had a lion head topped by a sun disk. She held a scepter of papyrus in her left hand and an ankh in her right.

“Sekhmet was one of the oldest known Egyptian deities,” Trinity read aloud. “She was both a creative and destructive force.”

“Well, she was a woman,” Alex said. Constance punched him in the shoulder. “Sorry,” he said, gingerly rubbing his arm.

“It was believed she could send plagues against her enemies. She was the patron of Physicians and Healers, and her priests were renowned as skilled doctors. Consequently, she was called both the ‘Lady of Terror’ and the ‘Lady of Life’. She was sent into the world by Ra to punish mankind for failing to follow his laws. Sekhmet’s bloodlust was so great that she could only be stopped by placing a mixture of beer and pomegranate juice in her path. Thinking it was blood, Sekhmet gorged on it and fell into a slumber. On the third day, she awoke, her bloodlust subsided.”

“And this is the goddess the Night Queen wanted to channel?” Constance said.

On the main floor of the house, the telephone jangled. A few seconds later, Moses came down the stairs.

“Miss Constance, you got a call. Says he’s your boss.”

Constance paled, hurried up the steps. She returned a minute later looking ill. “I am suspended for six weeks. After that, my situation will be reviewed.”

“How did he know to call you here?” Stone asked.

“I gave the number to them when we returned from Oregon because I expected to be spending time here with a gentleman friend.” She turned and glared at Alex who sat flipping through the book he had taken from the temple. He blushed and lowered his head. “I am afraid we have a problem. My superior believes I’m connected to the ‘theft’ of the map from the Orion exhibit. I can return to work after my suspension if, and only if, I deliver him the map tonight.”

Alex sat up straight. “I lied to Kane, told him I’d turned the map over to the Bureau. He said if that was the case, it would be in his hands soon enough. You don’t think your boss is working for him, do you?”

“Either that or someone higher in the ranks is pulling the strings,” Constance said.

“I know from experience the Illuminati has connections at all levels of government,” Stone said.

Constance sighed. “What are we going to do?”

“We no longer need the map,” Stone said. He had thoroughly examined that paper, performed chemical tests, and was satisfied there were no hidden messages to be found. “We can use this to our advantage. Kane believes this is a map of Egypt, drawn by Orion. Let’s add a few details to throw him off track.”

He grabbed an ink pen and a map of Egypt. He added a few lines, careful to match the thickness of those already on the page. Then he drew a trio of pyramids to represent those at Giza. Far to the west, he sketched an oasis and drew a star inside of it.

“If Kane takes the bait, he’ll find himself wandering the Sahara. Meanwhile, we’ll be searching for the Night Queen’s tomb.”

“We’re going to Egypt?” Trinity said.

“Alex and I are going. Moses can come if he wants.”

“No thank you.” Moses raised his big hands in a warding-off gesture. “I go to Africa, they might not let me come back.”

“Brock Stone, don’t you dare try to stop us from coming,” Trinity said. “You’ve called this dance before, and you know very well how it always ends. Either we go with you, or we go on our own.”

“We?” Alex said. “Constance is coming, too?” Constance made a huffing sound and turned up her nose at him. “Okay, fine.”

“But we don’t know where to look for the tomb of the Night Queen,” Trinity said.

“Actually, I think I’ve found something,” Alex said. “According to this book, the Night Queen built her temple at a place called Kauketos.”

“Never heard of it,” Stone said. “But we’ll find it. If Kane wants something inside that temple, it can only mean bad things for the world.”

The Cabaret Mondego was situated in the Quartier Pigalle. Named after the sculptor Jean-Baptiste Pigalle, this section of Paris was known for its nightlife. Cabarets, performances that featured a variety of song, dance, music, recitations, and theatre acts while patrons drank and dined, were the most popular attractions, foremost being the legendary Moulin Rouge. Some of the shows were quite scandalous. At least, that was what Stone had been told.

The atmosphere inside the Mondego was raucous. Patrons cheered and clapped while a trio of women clad in feathers and not much else, danced to the popular jazz number “Sweet Georgia Brown”. Trying not to gawk, Stone found a seat and ordered his meal. He was surprised to find that even in a cabaret the cuisine was some of the finest he’d ever had. He dined on a rich crawfish bisque, salmon with fresh vegetables, and a chocolate mousse as light as air. The performances were entertaining, and none of them were as scandalous as the folks back home believed.

The hour grew late, and Stone wondered if D. Rose was ever going to show his face. Not that he knew what the fellow looked like. Perhaps he was a regular here and one of the staff could point him out. Onstage, the host was introducing the next act.

“Mademoiselles et monsieurs, our next act comes all the way from the city of Ubar in the Arabian desert.”

Stone smirked. Ubar was a legendary lost city mentioned in The Thousand and One Arabian Nights.

“Please welcome, Desert Rose!” A young woman with indigo eyes and light olive skin glided onto the stage. Her lustrous black hair was cut in a bob. She scanned the audience with a casual aloofness. She was beautiful, but definitely not of Arab descent.

It was a moment before Stone made the connection. Desert Rose… D. Rose? This could not be his contact. His gut twisted at the thought.

Rose opened her set with the upbeat “I’m Sitting on Top of the World”. She segued into “If You Knew Susie”, a humorous ditty about a woman whom the singer knew to be much wilder than anyone suspected. Stone was impressed with her wide vocal range and the richness of her voice.

Across the room, their eyes met. Rose quirked an eyebrow, flashed a tiny smile, and launched into the George and Ira Gershwin number, “Looking for a Boy”. She continued to stare at Stone as if she were singing directly to him.

“I am just a little girl,

who’s looking for a little boy,

who’s looking for a girl to love.

Won’t you find that boy?

Help me find a boy?”

Now Stone was certain. D. Rose was Desert Rose, his contact. And he was supposed to kill her. The thought made him sick to his stomach.

Rose concluded her set with the heartbreaking “Only a Rose”. Every word was like a dagger to Stone’s heart.

“Only a rose I give you.

Only a song dying away,

Only a smile to keep in memory…”

There had to be some mistake. Perhaps he was wrong and this wasn’t the same D. Rose he was scheduled to meet. Or maybe this lovely creature was another Mata Hari — a spy working for the enemy. Stone took a deep breath and walled away his emotions. He was on a mission and Rose was an enemy combatant. Her gender and her beauty did not change that. He would do what he had to. It was the only way to get back home at the end of his enlistment.

A few minutes later Rose emerged from backstage. She exchanged greetings with a few patrons before ordering a drink at the bar. Stone moved to stand beside her.

“Have we met before?” Stone said. “Your face looks familiar.” It was the standard opening line when meeting a contact.

“You look like a man I met in Covent Garden,” Rose said automatically. “He was buying apples.”

“Must not have been me. I prefer oranges.”

Rose gave the tiniest of nods. “Meet me at Place de la Concorde in twenty minutes.”

“Sorry to have interrupted.” Stone made a quick bob of the head and strode out into the Paris night.

The sun shone down from a high, clear sky, baking the streets of Cairo. In the distance, the minarets of the Al-Azhar Mosque towered over the city. They were magnificent to behold, but Stone wasn’t in the mood for sightseeing. He tugged at his collar and rued his coat and tie. He couldn’t wait until he could change into something more comfortable.

“Are you missing Tibet right about now?” Alex asked.

“Stop that,” Stone said absently.

“Somebody’s grumpy today.” Alex took off his derby cap and fanned himself.

“I hate wearing a suit. It’s hot, constricting, and feels too much like a uniform,” Stone said.

“At least you get to wear pants,” Trinity grumbled. She and Constance wore white cotton dresses and carried parasols. “Fool men telling women what to wear.”

“I think you both look lovely,” Alex said.

“We would prefer it if you valued us for something other than our appearance,” Constance said.

“Can’t a man pay a lady a compliment?” Alex complained. “You know I didn’t mean it like that.”

The pair had been snapping at one another like pair of junkyard dogs since they left Washington. On the voyage over, it had gotten so bad that Constance had refused to be in the same room as Alex for the last two days of their trip. Trinity did not want her friend to be alone, which meant she and Stone had spent little time together.

“If the two of you don’t stop, I’m going to bundle you up, put you in crate, and ship you home as cargo.”

“Nonsense,” Constance said. “No gentleman would ever do such a thing.”

“Exactly.” Stone turned and flashed an icy grin that made her blanch.

“Don’t listen to him,” Trinity said. “We won’t stuff you in a crate, but we will leave the two of you behind if you don’t stop acting like children.”

Constance bit back a retort and looked away. Alex kept his eyes on a distant point on the horizon — the ziggurat that marked the tomb and mosque of Sultan el-Asraf. Trinity flicked a side-eyed glance at Stone and winked.

“I love you,” he said.

“Why, Brock Stone! What a thing to say in public.” She tipped her parasol so he couldn’t see her face, but he knew she was smiling.

After a short walk, they arrived at Sahara University and were shown to the office of Professor Abraxas Ratliff. The son of an Egyptian mother and English father, Ratliff was considered an expert in the growing field of Egyptology.

“I was pleased to receive your letter,” Ratliff said. “Your grandfather and I corresponded for many years. He was a brilliant man with unmatched curiosity. His interests were diverse, and he had a hunger for knowledge.”

“I fear I have been cursed with the same affliction.” Stone smiled. “We are searching for an ancient city. I haven’t been able to find it on any map.”

“I will help if I can. What is the name of the city?”

“Kauketos.”

Ratliff’s smile faded. “Kauket is the feminine version of the Egyptian god of night and darkness,” Ratliff said. “Kauketos, if it exists, is reputed to be a place of great evil. Why do you want to go there?”

“I read about it in my grandfather’s journals,” Stone lied. “He believed there was an undiscovered tomb there. My friend is a journalist and will be documenting our expedition.”

“Excellent.” Ratliff nodded at Alex, who shook his head and pointed at Trinity. “My mistake. Please forgive me.” He made a small bow which she returned with a bob of her head.

“You’re familiar with the name, then?” Stone said.

“I have come across it in my research, but I can only give you a general idea of where it is rumored to be.”

“That would be a good start.”

Ratliff took out a map and unrolled it on his desk. “The area where the city might be found is a long journey from here. My best estimate is that it lies somewhere in this area.” His finger drew a triangle from Luxor south to Aswan, northwest to the Southern Oasis, and back again to Luxor.

“That is a large area,” Alex said. “Can you give us any hints? Landmarks, perhaps?”

“I fear not. I suggest speaking with guides in Luxor, maybe some of the elders in the city. Stories get passed down through generations. Someone might be able to help you. I must caution you, what you propose will be dangerous and expensive.”

“Will we be able to purchase necessary supplies there?” Stone asked.

“You will find what you need in Luxor,” Ratliff said.

They thanked him for his help and bade him goodbye.

“Where to now, captain?” Alex said.

“How about you escort the ladies back to the hotel? I’ll book our passage to Luxor. Then we can rest up for our journey.”

“Not so fast, Mister Stone,” Trinity said. “I have spent too many days cooped up on a boat. Tonight you are taking us out on the town.”

Abraxas Ratliff watched his unexpected visitors go. They could not be allowed to find Kauketos. Perhaps he could stop them and make a tidy profit on the side. Stone had not batted an eye when he mentioned the cost. That meant he must be carrying a substantial amount of money. The women would fetch a handsome price from the right people. The man with the hook was disposable.

He hurried out into the hallway, locked the door behind him, and made his way out into the street. Around the corner and two blocks down, he found the person he was looking for — a street urchin clad in dirty robes.

The young man eyed him suspiciously until Ratliff gave the sign. The youth snapped to attention right away.

“Tell your employer I have marks for him. A wealthy traveler and two beautiful women. I want the usual fee, plus thirty percent of whatever he makes.”

“He will not agree to that.”

“Tell him.” Ratliff knew he would only end up with ten percent, but Amir liked to haggle.

“You can give me the details,” the lad said.

“Don’t be foolish. Half up front and I tell him everything he needs to know. He knows where to find me.”

The youth waited but did not reply. After a few seconds, Ratliff pressed a pound note into his palm, and he hurried away.

“Foolish Americans,” Ratliff said to himself. “You would have died in the attempt. I might as well make some money off of the deal.” He quickly made his way back to the university. There were others searching for Kauketos. It was time to report to them.

The Badia Casino, commonly known as the Opera Casino, was the crown jewel of Cairo nightlife. It was a place where East mixed with West, and tonight, it was packed with the most diverse group of people Stone had ever seen. Here the rich, powerful, and influential mixed with tourists and locals to enjoy music, dancing, and dining on “international and Oriental” cuisine. As they made their way to their table, he caught snatches of half a dozen different languages. A band played an upbeat jazz number while patrons danced the Charleston.

“I did not expect to find a place like this in Egypt,” Alex said as they took their seats in the dining area.

“Would you believe the owner is a woman?” Trinity said. “Badia Masbni is a legendary singer, dancer, and actress. She owns several clubs and businesses, but this one is her crown jewel.”

“I can see why,” Constance said. “I could almost believe we were in New York.”

“Or Paris,” Stone said.

Trinity quirked an eyebrow. “You went to Paris without me?”

“It was for business, not pleasure.” It was one of the many memories Stone wished he could forget.

“The ‘business’ you never talk about?” Alex said.

“Exactly.”

It was then that a server came to take their orders. Soon, they were dining on a sumptuous meal of Nile perch, vegetables stuffed with rice, and thick slices of brown bread baked with bits of fig and date. They took their time, enjoying the food and the performances. Stone had booked passage on the luxury steamer P.S. Sudan, which departed in the morning. Knowing they would be cooped up on the ship for several days, Trinity and Constance had insisted on an evening out.

They were surprised to discover that the band was led by trumpeter Memphis Joe Johnson, a black man from Tennessee. He was supported by the Big River Band, a group every bit as diverse as the clientele. Stone and his friends bobbed their heads and tapped their feet while the band played upbeat tunes. When the band broke into "I Wish I Could Shimmy Like My Sister Kate", a popular dance number written by Louis Armstrong, Trinity stood and took Stone’s hand.

“Dance with me.” It was not a request, but an order. Stone didn’t bother arguing. On the other side of the table, Constance fixed Alex with an expectant look. Alex sighed, drained his glass of wine, and stood.

“I’m such a cement mixer on the dance floor. I always look like a fool,” he complained.

“More fun for us,” Stone said.

The four moved out on the dance floor and joined the crowd. Alex quickly shed his inhibitions and was soon doing the shimmy with clumsy enthusiasm. The band segued into the song “Charleston” while the club patrons twisted and glided their way through the dance of the same name. When the song ended, Memphis Joe introduced their next act.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this singer comes to us from the city of Ubar among the sands of Arabia. Please welcome Desert Rose.”

A beautiful woman, tall and graceful with indigo eyes and black hair cut in a bob stepped out onto the stage. She had a regal bearing and acknowledged the applause like a queen to her subjects.

Stone blinked twice, gave a shake of his head. It couldn’t be!

“That canary has some lovely plumage,” Alex whispered.

“Eyes over here, Mister Stone,” Trinity said.

“Sorry. I thought I recognized her.” But it couldn’t be the same Rose. It was impossible.

Trinity let the subject drop as the band began to play “As Time Goes By”. They swayed to the music, and for a minute, Stone lost himself in the moment. Why couldn’t he feel this content all the time? What was broken inside of him that he couldn’t enjoy a simple life? He pushed the thought aside and let the music wash over him.

Rose sang, “It's still the same old story, a fight for love and glory, a case of do-or-die…”

Stone glanced up at Desert Rose. Their eyes met, and she flinched. Her voice went up an octave and she butchered the next line. She regained her composure in a flash, and the song continued. Trinity looked up at him, her eyes filled with unanswered questions.

“Moonlight and love songs, never out of date. Hearts full of passion, jealousy, and hate.”

It was as if the song was speaking directly to him. He had kept Trinity in the dark for too long. But where to begin, and would she still love him if she knew the things he had done under the guise of serving his country?

“I need to tell you something.”

“You have several years of ‘somethings’ you need to tell me about,” Trinity said.

“I can’t tell you all of it in one night.” His voice was suddenly thick. He cleared his throat.

“It’s all right,” Trinity said. “Just tell me.”

“In the service, I was often sent on solo missions. Gathering intelligence, eliminating problems…” The words hung in the air as he waited for her reply. On stage, Rose belted out the last line of the song, holding the last note for what seemed an eternity. “Things I deeply regret.”

“I understand,” she said softly, “and I don’t judge you for it.”

Stone swallowed hard, took a deep breath. And then something caught his eye. A tall man with beady eyes and a large, hooked nose was eyeballing Alex. Stone’s instincts told him something was amiss.

“Just tell me,” Trinity said.

“This next song is dedicated to an old friend with a heart of stone.” Rose didn’t look at him, but there was no doubt whom she meant.

The band struck up a soft number. Stone recognized it immediately—“Looking for a Boy” by George and Ira Gershwin. Memories came flooding back. Impossible as it seemed, it truly was Rose.

Trinity paled, flicked a glance at Rose as she began to sing. “Explain.”

Stone took a breath. “Rose was one of my missions.”

Trinity froze, stared at him like a viper coiled to strike. The song washed over them.

“I am just a little girl,

who’s looking for a little boy,

Trinity gritted her teeth. “Were you… intimate with her?”

“No!” How could he explain? He glanced up at Rose, searching for the words.

who’s looking for a girl to love.

Trinity’s slap caught him completely off guard. “Do you take me for a fool? At least have enough respect for me to tell the truth.”

“I am telling you the truth.”

She shoved him hard in the chest with both hands. He didn’t budge. She looked like she was going to hit him again, but then her visage crumbled. Tears welled in her eyes.

“I am going back to the hotel.” She turned and shoved her way through the crowd.

“Trinity, wait!” Stone shot an angry look at Rose, but she steadfastly avoided his gaze. He muttered a curse and forced his way through the crowd. He saw Trinity storm out the door. The hook-nosed man followed her. Stone turned, caught Alex’s attention, and pointed to the door. Alex cocked his head to the side, frowned in bemusement.

“Trouble!” Stone mouthed and pointed to the door. Alex understood immediately. He took Constance by the elbow and steered her in Stone’s direction. As they pushed their way through the crowd, Stone explained what had happened.

“Really? You and the singer?” Alex asked.

“It wasn’t like that. But that’s not important right now. I have a bad feeling about the man who followed her out the door.”

They emerged on the street to the sound of screams. Across the way, he saw Trinity being forced into a Rolls Royce Phantom limousine. Stone broke into a run. He dodged an oncoming Buick Roadster. The driver shouted something in Arabic, shook his fist, and screeched away in a cloud of dust. Stone zigzagged through a group of camel riders, vaulted a horse-drawn cart, and reached the other side of the street.

He was too late. The Phantom was already far down the street. Pedestrians leaped out of the way as the driver made his reckless escape. Stone took off at a dead sprint, but there was no hope. Trinity was gone. He clenched his fists, shook with impotent rage. How was he going to find her? He turned and stalked back to the club, where Alex and Constance waited.

“Do you think it was somebody working for John Kane?” Alex said hotly.

“Where are they going with her?” Constance added, talking over him.

“Kane seems the most likely culprit, but I don’t know where to begin looking.”

Behind him, a woman spoke in a voice smooth as silk. “I can answer both of your questions.

Stone whirled around to face the woman. If any doubt about her identity had remained, now he knew for certain.

“Rose!”

Stone’s first instinct was to seize Rose by the collar and demand answers, but he knew that wouldn’t work on her. She was not easily intimidated. He took a deep breath, calmed himself.

“How are you alive?”

“That’s not important right now,” Rose said. “Your friend was taken by a collector, a man who works for a local man, what you might call a low-level crime boss. Most of the pickpockets in this part of town also work for him. But his most profitable business is much more unsavory.”

“Meaning?”

“He occasionally abducts people. The men he sells as slaves, and the women…”

Stone understood. “Tell me where I can find her.”

“I will show you the way.”

“I’ll handle it.” Stone didn’t want her help, didn’t deserve it.

“There’s little time. Not only can I take you there, I can get you inside,” Rose said.

“How?”

“He occasionally pays me to provide entertainment at his… club. Not that kind of entertainment. Only singing.”

“Fine.” Stone knew there was no arguing with her, and if she truly could get him inside, it would be worth it.

“What about me?” Alex said.

“He means, what about us,” Constance corrected. “Unlike Alex, I actually work in law enforcement.”

“Neither of you can come,” Rose said bluntly. “You both would stick out like sore thumbs, if for different reasons.” She held up a hand as the pair started to argue. “But you can help. Go two blocks that way, turn right, and look for the house with the purple door. Tell Iko that Rose needs transportation for five waiting at the docks. Run!”

To their credit, neither Alex nor Constance batted an eye. They took off down the street as fast as Constance could manage in her dress and heels.

“All right,” Stone said, “show me the way.”

Rose smirked. “First, you will need a disguise. Follow me.”

She led him to the back of the club and into a private dressing room. There, she gave him a russet-colored false beard and mustache, and slicked his hair straight back. She swapped his tight-fitted suit for one of the draped style that was becoming popular among young men around the world. He now wore a tartan vest that matched the pattern of the square of fabric she tucked into his breast pocket.

“I look ridiculous,” he said.

“That’s the general idea.” Rose cupped his chin and locked eyes with him. “Listen carefully. You are the wayward son of a rich American businessman. You are here celebrating your purchase of an old Scottish castle. The seller tricked you into believing you are now a Scottish lord. You’re the only one who isn’t in on the joke. You’re a buffoon. Shouldn’t be too difficult a role for you to play.”

“I understand.”

“Good. I’ll fill you in on the rest along the way.” She led him outside to a waiting Hudson Roadster. “You drive. It’s not strictly forbidden, but in this city, a woman behind the wheel draws far too much attention.”

Stone fired up the engine, pulled out onto the street, and hit the gas. He wanted to put the pedal to the floor, but discretion was in order. Assuming Rose could be trusted. Until now, it hadn’t occurred to him that she likely still held a grudge. What if she was in league with the abductor and this was all just a ruse to get Stone and his friends to a vulnerable place where they could be captured with ease?

He turned and gave Rose a long look. She didn’t turn away, didn’t even blink.

“Why are you doing this?” he asked.

Now she looked away. She cast her eyes toward the heavens, where the moon shone brightly above. “I owe you my life.”

“Quite the opposite, I would think.” Stone’s gut twisted at the memory.

Rose laughed. “You can lie to yourself, but not to me, Brock Stone.”

“How did you find out my real name?” Stone asked.

“I did some checking. Wasn’t all that difficult, mister football hero.”

Stone rolled his eyes. His youth felt so far away it seemed as if the memories belonged to someone else. They rode along the dark streets in silence. In the distance, Stone could see the Great Sphinx and the Pyramids of Giza bathed in moonlight.

“Did you ever go back to Paris?” Rose asked.

“Why would I do that?” Stone snapped.

“You mean the ‘universe’ never brought you back to her? How tragic. She was so certain that book was going to change your life.”

“It did.” A bitter taste filled Stone’s mouth. Rose was dredging up memories he’d buried. “And how do you know about that?”

“The ‘universe’ told her to take a walk by the Seine that night.”

Stone grimaced. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

They followed a dirt road that ran parallel to the Nile. At the outskirts of the city, they came to a wharf where fishing boats were moored.

“Not here.” Rose pointed south. “Just a bit farther upriver.”

They finally reached a private dock where a large paddle steamer sat at anchor. It was painted white, with double smokestacks and a stern paddle wheel. Painted on the hull in bright red letters was the name P.S. Tom Sawyer.

“Are we on the Nile or the Mississippi?” Stone asked.

“The owner is an avid reader of Mark Twain,” Rose explained. “He had it brought over from America.”

Stone shrugged. He too enjoyed the works of the famed American humorist, but he didn’t love having something in common with a criminal and a slaver. They parked near the riverbank and made their way on foot to the dock.

“Follow my lead,” Rose said. “Don’t get in a rush and remember your role.”

“Got it.” Stone hated blindly following orders. He had gotten his fill of them in the service. But he knew when he was out of his depth, and this was one such occasion.

Two guards armed waited at the end of the dock. They greeted Rose warmly. Their eyes climbed up and down her shapely figure, drinking in her beauty.

If Rose took notice, she didn’t let it show. She called each of them by name and asked after their wives and children. After pleasantries were exchanged, she introduced Stone as Lord Rockwell. She added a surreptitious wink that Stone pretended not to notice.

“A lord?” one of the guards asked. “From what country?”

“I’m American, but I have recently become Scottish nobility,” Stone said.

“He purchased it with his father’s money.” Rose rolled her eyes and the two guards snickered. “Lord Rockwell enjoys games of chance, although he claims he is not very good at them.” She gave Stone a condescending pat on the cheek.

“I play for fun,” Stone said. “It’s not really about the money for me.”

“In that case, you will find more than your share of entertainment aboard the Sawyer,” one of the guards said, his eyes twinkling with mirth. The pair stepped back and allowed them to pass.

“How did I do?” Stone whispered.

“Not bad. Just remember not to lay it on too thick.”

At the end of the dock, they encountered another guard. He apparently knew Rose well and accepted her explanation without question. He smirked at Stone as they stepped on board.

The sounds of music, loud conversation, and raucous laughter spilled out from the decks of the old steamer. Rose led him up to the top deck, where well-dressed men sat drinking and laughing while a trio of belly dancers gyrated for their entertainment. Rose took her time, sashaying around the deck, greeted several men with a peck on the cheek, and introduced them to the newly minted Lord Rockwell. To a man, they were all amused by the newcomer in their midst.

“Where did you find this one?” a dapper man asked. He spoke the Queen’s English with clipped precision — a Londoner if Stone didn’t miss his guess.

“He was a guest at the club tonight,” Rose said.

“Baron Brimble. A pleasure to meet you.” The Englishman’s handshake was soft and moist. “I didn’t realize America had a noble class. Isn’t your mantra, ‘All men are created equal?’ or some such nonsense?”

“Yes, but we know better, don’t we?” Stone winked. “At least, that’s what my father says.”

“Judging by your accent, you hail from the American south.”

“Texas, but I’ve been away from home a long time. My father is called a cattle baron, but that is just a nickname for a man with more money than sense. Unlike him, I am an actual lord.”

“Truly?” The corners of Brimble’s mouth twitched in amusement. “What part of Scotland?”

“Cliffton, on the west bank of Loch Cliff in northern Shetland.”

“Shetland?” Brimble shuddered. “Just thinking about the place makes me want to sit beside a warm fire. You are descended from Scottish nobility then?”

“No. The title came with the purchase of a castle.”

Brimble choked on his sip of whiskey. Stone gave him a rough pat on the back.

“First time drinking?” he joked.

“Please forgive me. Something must have caught in my throat.” Brimble took a moment to clear his throat and wipe the tears from his eyes. “Do you enjoy poker, Lord Rockwell?”

“Is a horny toad a lizard?” Stone grinned and winked. “The answer is yes, by the way.”

Brimble gaped at him, utterly bemused. “You are a fascinating specimen. Why don’t you come with me down to the gaming hall on the second deck?”

“Well, spank my behind and call me Sally!” Stone exclaimed. “How about you, Rose? Want to join us?”

“Thank you, but I don’t have my father’s money to lose. I’m going to say hello to a few more friends. Take good care of him, Brimby.”

Brimble gave a mocking bow. “Worry not, my dear. I will see to it he has the time of his life.”

Stone and Brimble descended to the middle deck. It was crowded with gamblers. Cigar smoke and loud conversation filled the air. They passed a table where men cheered and waved cash around while scarab beetles raced in a specially designed box. At another table with high glass sides, men wagered on a pending scorpion battle. Each combatant was currently contained inside a small glass box on either side of the table. The yellow scorpion scurried about, looking for an escape. His counterpart, black with a fat tail, sat so still it might have been dead.

“The yellow scorpion is called a Deathstalker,” Brimble said. “It is one of the most aggressive and venomous scorpions in the world. Most countries have banned their importation.”

“How about the black one?” Stone asked.

“That is a Spitting Thicktail from Transvaal in South Africa. Its venom is nearly as deadly.”

“Can it literally spit venom?” Stone said.

“It can spray up to three feet. Hence the glass around the table. Trust me, you don’t want to be in the line of fire.” Brimble winced at the thought.

“Definitely not. I bought this tie in Paris, paid a pretty penny for it.” Stone swallowed hard. Get Paris out of your head.

Brimble laughed, gave his shoulder a squeeze. “Lord Rockwell, you are an absolute treasure. Would you care to have a flutter on the outcome?”

“I surely would.” Stone reached into his pocket and pulled out a roll of Egyptian currency. He peeled off a bill with the image of Tutankhamun on the right side and a watermark of the Great Sphinx of Giza on the left. “A pound on Black Betty!” he proclaimed. It was a respectable bet — roughly half what a working man back home would earn in a week. Assuming, of course, he could manage to find a job during a worldwide depression.

“I shall do the same,” Brimble said.

An obsequious man in a red jacket accepted their money, made a note of their orders, and gave a hasty bow to each. While they waited for the match to begin, a young woman in an indecently short silk dress offered them glasses of wine. She had fair skin, thick, wavy black hair, high cheekbones, and deep-set gray eyes. Clearly one of the many Eastern European women who had fled the economic collapse and political repression of their homelands and found their way to Cairo. Stone swirled the glass and was about to raise it to his nose for a whiff of the bouquet, but just in time, he remembered the role he was playing.

“What I wouldn’t give for some good Texas whiskey.”

“Not Scotch Whisky?” Brimble asked.

“No bueno.” Stone shuddered. It wasn’t play-acting. He had never developed a taste for the stuff. “I reckon it’s better than Irish Whisky, though.”

“What do you expect?” Brimble said. “It’s the Irish.”

Stone’s family tree had its share of Irish roots, but he pretended to share the English noble’s prejudice. He laughed and clapped Brimble on the back a little harder than necessary. The baron grunted and sloshed his wine onto the floor.

“I am so sorry,” Stone said. “My daddy always said I had more strength than sense.”

“Your father sounds like a wise man,” Brimble said. He signaled to the serving girl and she brought him a fresh drink. “But no harm done.” He raised his glass. “To victory.”

“And God bless Texas.” Stone drained his glass. The liquor burned on the way down, warmed his insides. “What time is high noon?”

“I’m not certain I understand the question, but if you are asking when the fight begins…” He gave a nod toward the table, where two anxious-looking men in red coats prepared to release the combatants. The onlookers began a countdown.

“Five… four…” A man gave the table a hard shake, causing both scorpions to scurry around. “Three… two… one!” The servants raised the glass doors and the deadly little gladiators charged into their glass colosseum. The Deathstalker charged the Thicktail, who immediately spat venom at its enemy, but it appeared to have no effect.

“Thicktails have two sorts of venom,” Brimble explained. “The first spray is always a warning, and is not nearly as deadly as the second. Of course, venom spat or sprayed is ineffectual against the Deathstalker’s tough exoskeleton.”

“How do you know so much about scorpions?” Stone asked. “We got them by the bushel in Texas, but all I really know about them is they like to homestead in a man’s boots at night. If you don’t shake them out before you put them on, you’re in for a world of hurting.”

The scorpions met in the center of their arena. They snapped at one another with their claws. The Thicktail had larger claws, but the Deathstalker was quicker. It scurried to the side and struck with its curled tail. It just missed. The Thicktail struck back but the Deathstalker was on the move again.

“Looks like we got Max Schmeling versus Max Baer,” Stone said.

“I have not seen Baer fight. Can he box?”

“Not really, but he hits like a kicking mule. Killed a man in the ring a couple years back.”

“Barbaric sport.” Brimble tsked and returned his attention to the glass arena.

The fight fell into a pattern of quick attacks by the Deathstalker with the occasional counterattack from the Thicktail. It went on that way for a good minute. Finally, the Thicktail managed to trap the Deathstalker’s tail just below the stinger. Unable to sting, the Deathstalker tried to pinch its way free, but it was not to be. The Thicktail drove its stinger deep into the Deathstalker’s back. The yellow scorpion gave a jerk, and then the fight went out of it. It lay there twitching in its death throes.

“Well done,” Brimble said to Stone as they collected their winnings. “Let’s hope you do as well at the tables.”

“If experience is any indicator, somebody else is probably leaving with my money tonight. Like Babe Ruth said, I’ll ‘give it the old college try’!” He made to hit Brimble on the back again, but the Englishman was keeping his distance. He remained just close enough to meet the demands of courtesy.

“We shall find out soon enough. Shall we find a table?”

The rest of the deck was clogged with gamblers seated at small tables. Each table stood on a luxurious Oriental rug. Tapestries from all around the world covered the walls. Toward the stern stood three closed doors, each marked “Private.”

“What’s back there?” Stone asked.

“Those are… uh…” Brimble cleared his throat. “Those are entertainment rooms. A place where a man and woman can be alone with their thoughts if you take my meaning. The girls will be brought up later if you are interested in that sort of thing.”

“I don’t hunt in a baited field, and I don’t fish in a barrel,” Stone said.

“Strange.” Brimble gave a small shake of his head. “We use the same words, yet it seems we speak different languages entirely.”

Stone didn’t reply. His eyes were on the three doors. If someone tried to haul Trinity into of them, he would move heaven and earth to get her free.

They took seats at a table at the far corner of the room. Brimble introduced “Lord Rockwell” to the other players. Zafrini was a Cairo politician, Ihara a Japanese expat, and Saroyan was an heiress from Armenia. The men greeted him with perfunctory nods while Saroyan looked him up and down like a hyena sizing up a potential kill.

Ihara dealt the cards and they set to playing. Stone bet conservatively, played the game by the numbers, and occasionally made a bad decision that cost him the hand. It wouldn’t do to draw attention to himself by cleaning up at the table. He won a couple, lost several.

He had just anted up when a familiar face strode toward him. It was John Kane! Stone raised his cards, shielding his face. The business magnate paid him no mind. He took a seat at the table directly behind Stone. A minute later, a corpulent, bearded man in an expensive pinstriped suit joined him. His red fez sat atop his head at a jaunty angle. He gave Kane an ebullient greeting and they shook hands warmly.

“That is Amir,” Brimble said softly. “He owns this boat. I don’t know the other man.”

Stone shrugged as if he, too, had no idea who Kane was. As the game went on, he listened intently to their conversation. Kane spoke softly, but Stone’s sharpened senses served him well. He heard everything.

“What brings you to Egypt, my friend?” Amir said.

“Mags is shooting a film.”

“And how is the lovely Miss Fischer?”

“Challenging.” Kane laughed and Amir joined in. They clinked glasses.

“Are you filming close by?” Amir asked.

“That is the problem,” Kane said. “Magda wants to film specific scenes at a place called Kauketos, but no one seems to know where it is.”

Stone was barely paying attention to the card game. He wondered if the false clues they had planted on Orion’s map had done the trick.

“Kauketos was a place of great evil,” Amir said. “All traces of its location were scrubbed from the annals of history.”

“She has a map of questionable origin,” Kane said carefully. “It shows the city as being somewhere in the vicinity of Siwa Oasis.”

Stone smiled. Kane had been taken in by the ruse. But for him to have obtained the map, that meant someone inside the Bureau was dirty. That could mean future trouble for Constance, but that was a problem for another day.

“Nonsense,” Amir said. “Kauketos was in the Western Desert somewhere west of Edfu.”

And just like that, Stone’s clever deception went up in smoke. They and Kane were back on an even footing in the search for the tomb of the Night Queen.

“Interesting,” Kane said. “Can you tell me anything more specific? Something that will get me ‘in the ballpark’ as they say in the States?”

Stone listened for Amir’s reply, but Rose chose that moment to return. She glided up to Stone’s side, put a hand on his shoulder.

“Gentlemen, I hope you have taken enough of Lord Rockwell’s money, because I need to borrow him,” she said.

“Rose, we were only just warming up,” Gerard said, a note of lighthearted reproval in his voice.

“You’re about to clean me out,” Stone said. “I fold.” His hand was weak, so it was no great loss. He pushed back from the table, thanked them for the game, and followed Rose out onto the deck that wrapped around the second level.

“I’ve found Trinity,” Rose said. “She’s belowdecks. But it’s going to be difficult to get her out.”

“Show me the way. I’ll think of something.”

They descended a set of stairs down to the main deck, where a band was playing and guests were dancing and cavorting. They skirted the dance floor and came to a door guarded by a mountain of a man with ebony skin and fists the size of hams. When Rose approached, he smiled, gave a quick bow, and stepped to the side.

The air belowdecks smelled of cigar smoke, petroleum, and sweat. Loud cheers and raucous laughter filled the air. A shrill scream cut through the wall of noise. Rose grabbed him by the arm.

“Don’t worry. That isn’t her.”

“What exactly goes on down here?” he asked.

“You’ll see soon enough.”

The smoky air was colored dusty yellow by the oil lamps and electric bulbs that lit the cramped space. Men were crowded around a pit in the center of the room. Inside, two men were wrangling a crocodile, while another carried a young woman’s limp body out of the makeshift arena.

“She was not much of a fighter.” A man in an obnoxious yellow suit laughed. He was an odd-looking man. His long nose, large eyes, and accent suggested French ancestry, but he had the tan skin and coarse dark hair common to Egyptians. He lounged in a gold-painted chair atop a small dais. A distracted-looking young woman sat on his knee. “Who is our next gladiator?”

“That’s Balthus, Amir’s right-hand man,” Rose whispered. “He’s the product of a visiting French aristocrat and a local flapper — the kind who works for a living, if you take my meaning. The father never wanted anything to do with him, but Balthus still considers himself to be part of the noble class. Amir is intelligent and ruthless; Balthus is stupid and reckless. I’m not sure which is more dangerous.”

“Let go of me, you slimy worm!” a woman shouted.

“Trinity!” Stone could just see the top of her head as she was shoved through the crowd.

Rose seized his wrist in both hands. “Don’t do anything crazy.”

“That might be my only option,” Stone said. “Is there another way out? Preferably one not guarded by a giant?”

“Toward the stern is a door that leads into the engine room. From there you can climb up to a trapdoor by the paddlewheel. You can climb down and swim to shore.”

“How do I get Trinity out of here without bringing Amir’s thugs down on my head?”

“Do I have to do everything? I got you inside and I found her for you. The rest is up to you.”

“Fine.” Stone worked his way up to the edge of the arena. It was a sunken pit about three feet deep and fifteen feet across, and ringed by a low wall.

Two men shoved Trinity roughly down into the pit and slammed the gate behind her. She stood, looked around angrily. She wore silk harem pants and a tight-fitting top that left her shoulders and arms uncovered. She turned and glared at Balthus.

“What am I supposed to do down here?”

“Fight for your freedom, of course. You are a gladiator.” Balthus fished into his robes, took out a long knife, and tossed it down into the arena.

“All right, then.” Trinity picked up the knife, tested its weight and heft. “I challenge you.”

The men in the crowd laughed and catcalled. Stone cracked a smile. Trinity was no coward, and she had been in dangerous situations before. Still, he had to put a stop to this before it turned ugly.

“We have another opponent in mind for you.”

Balthus flicked his hand and a man clad in traditional robes pushed his way through the crowd. He carried a sack which he upended over the rail. Something large and black thudded to the ground. The crowd let out a collective gasp as a snake uncoiled and slithered toward Trinity. It was eight feet long and as thick as Stone’s calf.

“Meet Naga. She is an Egyptian cobra,” Balthus proclaimed. “Like all females, she is ill-tempered and highly venomous.”

Stone looked around for a weapon. A spear and a khopesh, the traditional sickle-sword of ancient Egypt, adorned the wall to his left. He worked his way toward them, keeping one eye on Trinity.

Naga’s handler whistled and the snake raised up, flattened its head, poised to strike. Cheers faded to a confused murmur when Trinity showed no fear of the snake. She had been raised in the American south, which was home to a variety of snakes, including deadly rattlesnakes, copperheads, and cottonmouth moccasins. In their youth, she, Stone, and Alex had spent enough time wading through creeks and tromping through the woods that she had no particular fear of wild animals — only a healthy respect. She raised her knife and eyed the cobra like a puzzle that needed solving.

“Have at it, girl!” a florid-faced Englishman bellowed. “And if you could give us a little wiggle while you’re about it.” The men around him laughed.

The cobra swayed, its eyes locked on Trinity as she circled.

Men stamped their feet and urged Naga to attack. Others flung bottles and glasses into the arena, some aimed at Trinity, others at the snake. Stone thought he understood. For the spectators, half the fun was the terror of the female ‘gladiator’ and Trinity was not playing the part.

Finally, Naga struck. Trinity had kept her distance, and the snake’s attack fell short. A cobra could strike roughly a third of its length and could not change directions in mid-strike. Trinity was well aware of this, being a regular visitor to the National Zoological Park in Washington, and she circled just beyond its range. The cobra struck and missed again.

Stone reached the weapons hanging on the wall just as the snake made another attack. This time Trinity did not dance away. Confident she was out of range, she held her ground. As Naga struck, she drove her knife down into the snake’s flattened hood. It was not a killing blow, but it pinned the snake to the floor of the pit.

Balthus let out a cry of rage and sprang to his feet. The woman he dandled on his knee tumbled to the floor.

“Give me another gladiator now!” he shrieked. “I want this woman dead!”

The Place de la Concorde sat on the Rive Droit in between the Louvre and the Arc de Triomphe. The public square was dominated by the Luxor Obelisk, a towering monument to Rameses II that had been gifted to the king of France by Egyptian leader Mehemet Ali in 1830. The three-thousand-year-old monument stood seventy-five feet tall and marked the spot where Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette were executed.

Rose arrived right on time, gliding out of the darkness like a wraith. She looked Stone up and down, taking his measure.

“You’re my muscle?” she said.

“I suppose. I wasn’t given any instructions beyond who to meet and where.”

“And you’re an expert in Ancient Egyptian?” Rose asked.

“I have studied it. I hope that will be enough for whatever it is we are supposed to do.” Stone cocked his head. “What is it we’re supposed to do, exactly?”

Rose shrugged. “Recover something.”

“You don’t know either?”

“Your superiors say it will be obvious, and these clues should get us there.” She reached into her coat, took out a folded sheet of paper, and handed it to Stone. Several lines of disjointed French were scrawled across the page in a sloppy hand. Capitalization was arbitrary and punctuation absent. “This is the written account of a local man, one who lives underground. Lost his mind years ago. This man found something down there that your people apparently want but he couldn’t find it again. These are his recollections of how he got there. I haven’t gotten past step one.”

Stone took another look at the paper. The first line read, Travers la mer.

“Across the sea?” Stone said.

Rose shrugged. “I haven’t come up with anything. I thought the sea might mean the Seine but there are countless bridges spanning the river.”

Stone mulled over the clue, considering the possibilities. Travers could also mean “through” or “by way of”. His eyes drifted to the Egyptian obelisk looming overhead, and an idea came to him. He had been instructed to familiarize himself with Ancient Egyptian. Could the answer lie there? He carried with him a small historical dictionary of Ancient Egyptian. He took it out and thumbed through to the letter M. There it was!

“Mer ancient Egyptian for pyramid. Is there a pyramid in the city? One we could pass through, perhaps?”

Rose’s eyes brightened. “Yes, there is. Come with me.”

It was a short walk to Parc Monceau, a twenty-acre greenspace just north of the Arc de Triomphe. Rose led him along a curved pathway past a Roman colonnade to a miniature pyramid made of bricks.

“They call this the Egyptian Pyramid,” Rose explained. “It was designed by Phillippe d’Orleans, cousin to King Louis XVI. Phillippe was a Freemason and fascinated by all things Egyptian, especially the Hermetica.”

Stone nodded. Hermetica were books of Egyptian magic that had been popular throughout the medieval period and into the Age of Enlightenment.

“Let’s take a look inside.”

The way inside was barred by a padlocked door. Stone broke the lock and they crawled inside. The interior was empty.

“Dead end,” Rose said glumly.

“Don’t be so quick to give up. I have some experience with hidden passageways.” He began a close inspection of the blocks from which the pyramid was built, running his fingers over each.

“What are we looking for?” Rose asked.

“A button, an engraving, any irregularity.”

A few minutes later Rose gasped. “I feel something!”

She was right. Engraved in worn lines that had almost faded away, was a star with a circle in the center.

“What is it?” Rose asked.

“A Seba. It’s the hieroglyphic representation of Duat — the Egyptian underworld.”

“You believe it’s important?”

“It’s worth a try.” Stone ran his fingers over the image. He tried pressing down on it but it held firm. He tried turning it, but also without success.

“Maybe the entire block moves,” Rose suggested.

Stone leaned in close. She was right. This block was not mortared in. He took out his knife and worked it around the edges, clearing enough space to take hold of it with his fingertips.

“Here goes nothing.” He gave the brick a pull and it slid free. Behind it was a handle. He grabbed hold of it, took a breath, and gave it a pull. The ground trembled and a low rumble filled the pyramid.

“You opened a trapdoor. Look!” Rose pointed to the back of the pyramid where a gaping hole led down into the darkness.

“I’ll go first,” Stone said.

“No, you won’t. This is my specialty.” Without another word, she descended into the hole and disappeared.

A loud commotion arose at the back of the room. The crowd parted as two of Balthus’s goons forced their way through. Each man tugged on a rope tied to the collar of a very large, very angry, spotted cat — an Arabian leopard! If they managed to get that thing into the fighting pit with Trinity…

Stone sprang into action. He seized the khopesh off the wall and charged the animal handlers. Before they could react, he swung the blade down with all its might. It sliced through the ropes that held the angry cat in place. Freed, the leopard immediately lashed out at anyone within its reach.

Grown men squealed like frightened children as they ran for the stairs that led up to the main deck. Balthus stood on his gold chair, cursing and shouting for his guards. His French accent was gone.

“Trinity!” Stone shouted. She looked in his direction and frowned. “It’s me!” He tugged at his false beard.

Relief flooded her face as she ran to him. He took her hand and lifted her out of the pit.

“I like the beard,” she said.

“It itches.”

Stone quickly scanned the room. The stairwell was clogged with patrons trying to force their way out. No one was moving.

“I’m stuck!” someone screamed.

“Move it, man. The leopard has gone mad!” The Englishman who had insulted Trinity was stuck at the back of the pack. He was frantically trying to wriggle his way into the throng, but the escape had become a dog-eat-dog affair. “If you greasy Egyptian swine don’t get out of my way…”

His words ended in a shriek as the leopard bore him to the ground.

“How do we get out of here?” Trinity asked.

“Out the back.” He pointed toward the stern. “We’ll hop off and swim to the dock.”

The floor shook and a loud rumble filled the air. The engine was running! The Sawyer was leaving the dock!

“What’s happening?” Trinity said.

“They’re taking the boat out onto the river. We’ve got to hurry.”

He took Trinity’s hand, and they made a run for it. One of Balthus’s goons tried to bar their way. Stone clubbed him with the hilt of the khopesh. His eyes rolled back, and he slumped to the ground. They hurdled his fallen body and kept running.

“Help me!” a woman shrieked.

Stone looked back to see Rose running toward them. He pushed the khopesh into Trinity’s hands.

“Keep going. I’ll catch up.”

“You are not going back for that woman!” Trinity said.

How could Stone explain that he owed it to Rose as recompense for what he had done to her? “There’s no time. Just go!”

Stone turned and made a beeline for Rose who was sprinting toward him. Her eyes were wide with terror. Off to the side, he saw Balthus, still standing atop his chair, take aim at her with an old Double Deringer. “Down!” Stone shouted, pointed at the ground.

Rose understood. She dropped into a baseball slide just as Balthus pulled the trigger. The bullet zipped past her, ricocheted crazily. Somewhere in the crowd of fleeing gamblers, someone cried out in pain.

Stone leaped over the sliding Rose and hit the ground directly in the path of one of Balthus’s goons. The big man swung a wild haymaker at Stone, who ducked the punch and delivered a left cross to the man’s chin. The bruno staggered. Out of the corner of his eye, Stone saw Balthus take aim again. Stone seized the dazed thug by the shoulders, spun him around, and used his body as a meat shield. Balthus’s bullet took his man in the back and the fellow collapsed with a grunt of pain.

“You made me kill my brother-in-law!” Balthus jumped down off his chair, drew a long-bladed knife, and charged at Stone.

A wild, high-pitched roar pierced the air. Stone turned around to see the leopard flying at him. Acting on instinct, he threw himself backward and drew his knees to his chest. As the leopard shot past him, he kicked out and caught the bit cat full in the midsection, sending it tumbling through the air and right into Balthus. Balthus screamed as the leopard savaged him.

Stone landed hard on his back. He rolled over, regained his feet, and ran for the door. He wished Gideon could have seen that kick. Dalha would have enjoyed the awkward landing. A pang of sadness pinched his throat at the thought of his old friends. He shook the pain away and kept running. He burst through the stern door and into the dark engine room. The mechanical roar of the engine was earsplitting.

“Trinity!” he shouted. Something flashed through the air. He ducked and the razor-sharp khopesh missed his head by inches. “Watch it!”

“Sorry. I thought you were Balthus.” Rose shrugged.

“He’s spending time with his cat. Where’s Trinity?”

Rose pointed to a ladder set in the wall and an open trapdoor above it. “You’ll come out beside the paddlewheel,” she said. “You’ll have to jump down and swim for it.”

“What about you?”

“I have to stay, or else Amir will get suspicious.” Rose forced a smile. “Besides, deep water terrifies me. I’ll hide down here, say I ran from the leopard. I’ll be fine.”

“But he’s a criminal,” Stone said.

“So am I. Or did you forget?” Rose planted a quick kiss on his lips. “Goodbye, Lord Rockwell.”

“Goodbye, Desert Rose. Sorry about before.”

“You did what you had to do.” Rose’s voice cracked. “Get out of here. If you are caught, all my hard work will have gone to waste.” She gave him a shove, then turned away fast.

Stone rushed to the ladder and climbed up to join Trinity. She stood clutching the rail and gazing at the ever-shrinking dock behind them.

“We’ll have to swim for it,” Stone said. “If we go now, the chaos will be a perfect distraction.”

Trinity blanched. “I can’t swim that far.”

“Just keep your head above water. I’ll get you to shore.”

Trinity nodded. Before she could change her mind, she turned, climbed up onto the rail, and made a graceful dive into the dark waters of the Nile. Before Stone could follow, he saw movement behind him. Balthus had climbed through the trapdoor and was charging at Stone, knife held aloft. His face was a mask of blood. Deep scratches drew angry red lines across his face.

“You will die!”

Stone seized Balthus by the wrist before he could bring his knife down. With his other hand, he grabbed the crime lord by the belt and lifted him over his head. Balthus realized what Stone intended. His eyes popped.

“Don’t do it! Please! I have money! I have girls… beautiful young… Aieee!” Balthus let out a bloodcurdling shriek as Stone threw him into the teeth of the giant paddlewheel.

“You can’t afford me.” Stone ran to the side rail and dived into the water.

Twenty minutes later, exhausted and waterlogged, Stone and Trinity crawled ashore half a mile upstream of the docks. The Sawyer had continued on its way, with the guards on shore none the wiser.

Shoulder to shoulder, they rested against a palm tree and regained their breath. Soon, Trinity’s ragged gasps turned to shallow laughter.

“What’s so funny?”

She pointed at his face. “Your beard.”

His hand went to his chin. His false beard had come half off.

“It looks like you’ve got a wet rat clinging to your chin.”

“I have to admit, I have looked worse.” He reached to remove the beard, but Trinity pushed his hand away.

“Let me do it.”

“Thank you. Very kind.”

With one vicious yank, Trinity tore the beard free. It felt like someone had ripped his face off. Stone put his hand to his cheek to make sure he had any skin left.

“That hurt.”

“Good. I owed you for that nonsense at the club.” She grinned wickedly. “Now the mustache.”

Stone didn’t bother to argue. If it made things better between them, it was a small price to pay.

The sound of hooves caught his ear. A few seconds later, figures appeared in the dark. A lanky man with red hair and an attractive blonde woman in a dress. They were riding camels. Behind them, another rider led two more camels.

“Alex?” Stone said. “What is this?”

“This is the transportation Rose arranged.” Alex introduced Iko, who helped them mount up and guided them back into town.

As they approached their hotel, they drew more and more odd looks. When they dismounted, two passing women flashed scandalized looks at Trinity. She looked down at her damp clothing, gasped, and tried to cover herself with her arms.

“Stone, give me your jacket.”

“I left it in the river. It was weighing me down.”

“Alex, I need your coat.” Panic rang in Trinity’s voice.

“Whatever for? I think your outfit is lovely.”

“Alex!” Constance’s warning tone was all the encouragement he needed.

What a sight they made. Stone in his sodden clothing, and Trinity dressed in harem pants and a man’s jacket. They hurried to their rooms, chased by laughter and scandalized comments.

“I have never been so embarrassed in my life.” Trinity’s face was beet red.

“You were kidnapped and thrown into a fighting pit with a cobra, and you’re worried about people seeing your shoulders?” Alex asked.

“Yes!” Trinity and Constance said in unison. They cast pitying frowns on Alex, shook their heads in disbelief, and retired to their room without another word.

“Women,” Alex said. “I’ll never understand them.”

“That’s your problem,” Stone said. “You’re trying to understand women instead of concentrating on one woman.”

“Do you understand your woman?”

Stone laughed. “Not a chance. But I like it that way.”

It took Stone a long time to fall asleep. After a hot bath, he dressed and stretched out atop one of the room’s twin beds. On the other bed, Alex was already sawing logs. Stone gazed up at the ceiling and meditated on the days to come.

In the morning, they would board the steamship Sudan for their journey up the Nile. Upon arrival in Luxor, they would hire a guide and begin their search for Kauketos. He ruminated on each challenge they faced and turned the problems over in his mind’s eye.

First, they would have to find a guide willing to lead them to one of the most forbidding wilderness areas on the planet. That shouldn’t be too much of a challenge. Thanks to his inheritance, Stone had money to spare. He would find someone.

The bigger challenge was locating the city itself. They had only a general idea of where it was. They needed more information, another clue. And what about the ushabti Orion had hidden in the library of the masonic temple? What was its purpose? Clearly, it was essential to their quest. Finally, thanks to Amit, their attempt at misdirecting Kane had failed. Another confrontation seemed inevitable.

He took a deep breath, cleansed his mind of dark thoughts. He focused on his breathing, tuning out the aches and pains, encouraging his body to heal. As the night wore on, sleep slowly crept up on him until he fell into a fitful slumber.

Stone awoke to the sound of shuffling feet. He was a light sleeper and was fully alert as soon as he sat up. A man was rummaging through his bag. Stone was on the intruder in a flash. Too late, the man drew a knife. Stone controlled his wrist and smashed the man’s hand against the wall until he dropped the blade.

“What is happening?” Alex mumbled.

“Turn on the lamp,” Stone ordered, pinning the man’s free arm behind his back. Light flooded the room and Stone’s eyes fell on a familiar face. “Professor Ratliff!”

“Let me explain,” Ratliff said.

“Make it fast, and it better be good,” Stone said.

“I am being pressured by someone powerful and dangerous.”

“John Kane?” Stone asked.

Ratliff hung his head. “He is one of them. The other is a gangster named Amit.”

Something clicked in Stone’s mind. “Were you behind the abduction of our friend?” The look on Ratliff’s face was all the answer Stone needed.

“Please, just let me explain.” Ratliff’s voice quaked. “A few years ago, I made the mistake of working with Amit to sell some items to private collectors.”

“Stolen antiquities?” Stone asked.

Ratliff nodded. “Since then, Amit has been blackmailing me. I have to provide him with at least one mark a month — tourists mostly. If I don’t, he will turn me in to the authorities, many of whom are on his payroll. And he has men inside every jail. I wouldn’t last very long.”

“How did John Kane enter the picture?” Stone asked.

“He took an interest in a map I acquired while working for a man named Crowley.”

“Orion Crowley?” Stone demanded.

“One and the same. He was looking for Kauketos, same as you. I found an old tablet that had been smashed to bits, but I was able to piece together enough of it to obtain a clue to the city’s location.”

“Kane already knows the way to the city?” Alex asked.

“I doubt it. It was only a single clue without context.”

“Tell me,” Stone said.

“Touched by the Head of the Serpent at sunset. That’s all I know.”

Stone didn’t trust Ratliff. He seized the professor by the collar, gave it a twist, and slowly lifted the smaller man off the floor until they were eye to eye.

“I don’t believe you.”

Ratliff’s eyes bulged and his face turned beet red. He made a squelching sound, his lips moved but he couldn’t form the words. Stone lowered Ratliff, let the tips of his toes touch the floor.

“That’s the only clue I have,” he grunted. “I swear it.”

Stone released his grip on the professor and shoved the man into a nearby chair. He crossed his arms and stood over the quailing man. “What were you looking for in our room?”

“Orion acquired what he called the ‘Key’. Kane believes you have it. Amit ordered me to search your room. I got here just as you arrived. I have been hiding in the closet for hours, waiting for you to fall asleep.”

“I don’t sleep very much. Too many things on my mind.” Stone narrowed his eyes. He had a hunch there was more Ratliff could tell them, but how to shake it out of him? He turned to Alex.

“We’ll need to dispose of his body without being spotted. Any suggestions?” He flashed a wink. Alex’s eyes twinkled. He understood.

“Cut him up and take him out inside our luggage? We could feed his bits to the crocodiles. I’ve got a blade attachment in my bag.”

“No!” Ratliff gasped. “I am certain I can be of use to you.”

“Why does Kane want to find the city?”

“He is working with the Germans. They seek to harness the dark powers of the Night Queen.”

“What are his plans?”

“They chartered a boat and will head upriver to Luxor. From there they will head into the Western Desert.”

“What other clues does Kane have?”

“None that he has shared with me. I’m telling the truth.” Sweat dripped down Ratliff’s face.

“All right,” Stone finally said. “We’ll let you live.” At Stone’s words, Ratliff smiled, his shoulder sagged in relief. Stone turned to Alex. “We’ll bind and gag him and leave him in the closet.”

“Won’t they find him when they clean the room?”

“Yes. That’s why you are going to go to the front desk and pay for another night. Leave strict instructions that we are not to be disturbed under any circumstances.”

“You can’t do that,” Ratliff said.

Stone leaned in until they were nose to nose. He cracked his knuckles and stared the man down.

“You arranged for criminals to kidnap the woman I love. Count yourself lucky I don’t take my friend’s suggestion and feed you to the crocs.”

The PS Sudan was a 236-foot-long side-wheel steamer with two veranda-lined stacked and a wheelhouse on top. Her elegant cabins and suites featured private bathrooms with hot and cold running water in each cabin. Built in Scotland in 1915, she was first launched on the Nile in 1921 and could cover more than one hundred miles a day traveling upriver. Up to eighty passengers could live in luxury as they cruised upriver past ancient pyramids and other sites of cultural and historical significance.

Trinity and Constance were immediately taken by the ship and its amenities. The ice between Constance and Alex finally thawed, and Trinity pretended the incident at the club had never happened. They spent their days enjoying cool drinks on the veranda and taking in the sights.

As they moved south of Cairo, the desert gave way to patches of green. Water buffalo and cattle grazed along the palm-lined riverbanks. Crops of wheat, alfalfa, and sugar cane reached long, green fingers out into the arid desert landscape. Stone was struck by the contrast between the lush riverbanks and the parched hills in the distance.

“What’s buzzin’, cousin?” Alex plopped down in a wicker chair beside Stone.

“Trying to relax, but I can’t seem to get my mind off Kauketos. We’re nearing the end of the voyage and we still have only a vague idea of where it is.”

Alex scratched his chin with the tip of his hook, frowned thoughtfully. Then his face brightened. “We should ask Professor Wainwright!”

“Who is he?”

“An archaeologist, old fellow. He’s been working in Egypt for decades, even worked under Howard Carter on the Tutankhamun dig. Trinity interviewed him this morning.

Trinity had pitched to her editor the idea of an Egyptian travelog, making the trip at her own expense. With Egyptomania in full swing back home, the editor loved both the idea and the chance to get the annoying “girl” reporter out of his hair for a while.

They found Wainwright seated on the lower veranda, chatting amiably with Trinity and Constance. He was a slender man with thinning white hair. His dapper suit and posh accent made an odd match to his deeply tanned skin. Trinity introduced Stone and Alex, and Wainwright invited the men to join them.

Wainwright was a fount of knowledge about Egypt, particularly the sites along the river. He explained that he took this cruise once a year in memory of his late wife, who had loved these river voyages.

“Last year I met an author, Agatha somebody, who was writing a mystery novel set on board this very ship. She said she might include me as a character.” Wainwright told them.

Stone gradually nudged the conversation in the direction of yet-undiscovered archaeological sites.

“Have you heard of a site called Kauketos?” Stone asked.

Wainwright frowned. “That’s odd. Few have even heard of the place, yet you are the second person this week to ask me about it.”

“Was it a man named Kane?” Stone asked.

“It was a blonde woman named Fischer. Lovely lady.”

Stone exchanged glances with Trinity. Fischer and Kane were two sides of the same coin.

“What did you tell her?”

“Very little, I am afraid. I told her it is associated with the legend of the Night Queen and it is somewhere in the Western Desert.”

“Have you ever seen one of these?” Stone showed him the ushabti.

“May I?” Wainwright took the ushabti and gave it a thorough examination. “It appears to be authentic and quite rare. Interesting.” He frowned, tugged absently at his chin whiskers. “This reminds me of another legend associated with the Night Queen. According to the story, the Night Queen built her temple atop the ruins of Sobekopolis — the city of Sobek, the crocodile god. It sits on the underground lake that birthed Sobek. It is from those waters that she drew her power.”

“Forgive me,” Constance said, “but why would the city of a crocodile god be out in the desert?”

“Long ago, the Sahara was underwater,” Wainwright said.

“This ushabti is a crocodile,” Stone said. “Could it have come from Sobekopolis?”

“Possibly. I have seen one other in my lifetime, and it was found in the Western Desert.”

“Can you narrow it down for us?” Trinity asked.

“The man who found it was quite mad. All I could get out of him was three or four days west of Luxor, in the Cavern of the Three-Headed Serpent.” He handed the ushabti back to Stone.

“Thank you,” Stone said. “One more question if you don’t mind.”

“Ask away. Egyptology is my favorite subject. I can talk about it all day.”

“It is my understanding that during the process of mummification, certain organs are placed in four canopic jars.”

“Correct.”

“Have you ever heard of the heart being placed in a fifth jar?”

Wainwright sat up straight. He appeared alarmed.

“The Egyptians believed the heart, rather than the brain, was the source of human was the source of wisdom, knowledge, emotion. and memory. A person’s very essence was contained within, so it was always left with the body so that the deceased could live in the afterlife.”

“Why would the heart be removed?” Trinity asked.

“To prevent the deceased from moving on to the afterlife.”

“I don’t understand,” Alex said. “Why not let them face judgment? An evil person will be punished, good will be rewarded.”

Wainwright gazed thoughtfully at the shoreline sweeping past them.

“I can only think of one reason the heart would be preserved — so that the person can someday be brought back to life.”

They arrived in Luxor the following morning and checked into the famed Winter Palace Hotel. Stone and Alex then went out in search of a guide while the ladies remained behind to enjoy the amenities.

After asking around about a guide and meeting with no success, Stone eventually paid a young man named Dakari a pound to show him to a place where he could find a guide. The farther they walked, the shabbier their surroundings grew. Finally, they stopped in front of a small building. A hand-painted sign, bleached out by the sun, read “Ammit Pub.” Beneath the name was the image of a bizarre creature with the head of a crocodile, the front legs and chest of a lion, and the hindquarters of a hippo.

“You will find a guide in there,” Dakari said.

“How about camels and supplies for a journey?” Alex asked.

“Your guide can help you.”

As they turned to leave, Stone saw a flicker of movement at the corner of his eye. His monastery training kicked in. He whipped around and seized Dakari by the wrist before the young man could snatch the cash in his pocket. Dakari was too surprised to be frightened.

“You are fast,” the young man said.

“Glad you noticed,” Stone said dryly. “I’m also vindictive.” He took back one of the pound notes he had given to Dakari. “Get out of here before I take the other back, too.” He watched the young man go, then turned and led the way into the bar.

Nervous-looking men cast side-eyed glances at the pair of newcomers as they entered. Someone muttered something about lost tourists under his breath and the others at his table laughed. Stone and Alex moved to the bar, where Alex ordered two Stellas — the beer that had dominated Egypt for more than a decade. The bartender smirked, his shoulders quaked in silent mirth. Finally, he gave a shake of his head and went to get their drinks.

“What’s his problem?” Alex said.

“Places like this mostly serve hard liquor, or turpentine masquerading as liquor,” Stone said. “Beer tends to be favored by genteel folk.”

“Genteel is a name I’ve never been called.”

“Compared to everyone else in here, you’re a Rockefeller.”

“If only I had the bank account to match.”

The bartender brought their beers and held up four fingers. Stone handed him the bills and the man turned and walked away.

“Friendly chap.” Alex scanned the room. “No one seems to like us very much.”

“Let’s hope they like money.”

Stone seized the bull by the horns, approached the nearest table, and asked if anyone could recommend a guide. None of the men looked up. All shook their heads. He asked the men at the next table. An emaciated man with crooked teeth looked up at him.

“I don’t speak English,” he said.

“Neither do I,” said the man seated across the table from him. Both men laughed.

“This is not going well,” Stone said.

“What about that fellow over there?” Alex tilted his head in the direction of an old man drinking alone in the corner. They approached him and were pleased he didn’t scowl at them.

“Pardon me, but we are looking for a guide to take us into the Western Desert,” Stone said.

The old man smirked but did not answer.

“Do you speak English?” Alex asked loudly.

“Saying it slower and louder won’t teach him a new language,” Stone said.

“I speak your language,” the old man said. “But my mouth is dry.”

Alex bought a round for the three of them, this time ordering bourbon. Stone was surprised to find it was quite good — sweet with notes of vanilla and caramel. The old man took a sip, smiled, and smacked his lips.

“Very nice.” He introduced himself as Moises.

“Sounds like Moses,” Alex said.

“Same name, different spelling,” Moises said.

“That might be a problem.” Alex grinned. “Remember what happened the last time a guy named Moses led people into the desert?”

Moises laughed. He took another sip, set his glass on the table, and flashed the first smile they had seen since leaving their hotel. “Where do you wish to go? The Valley of the Kings?”

“Deeper into the desert than that,” Stone said.

“The desert is dangerous — cobras, jackals, giant scorpions, quicksand…”

“Quicksand in the desert?” Alex said.

“Loosely packed sand that can’t support a man’s weight. You might call it a sandpit.”

“We will take care,” Stone said.

“Why would you want to go into such a barren wasteland?”

“Research,” Stone said.

Moises shrugged as if absolving himself of responsibility for whatever trouble the two men got themselves into. “I only know of one man who might take you there. He likes to play cards, so he is always in need of money.”

“Sounds perfect. Where can we find him?” Stone asked.

“Back room. Look for the man with long, black hair. People call him Hawk.”

They thanked Moises and made their way to a door in the back corner. Stone opened it and peered through. Men played poker around several small tables. All looked Egyptian save for one.

He was a big man with high cheekbones, a bent nose, and reddish-brown skin. A folded red bandana held back his long, black hair. He wore safari-style khaki shirt and trousers, and cowboy boots. A knife and a tomahawk hung from his belt.

“An Indian!” Alex said. “Who would have thunk it?”

“You are cheating, Hawk!” The man seated opposite Hawk sprang to his feet, upending his chair. “You’ve got cards hidden up your sleeve.”

“I’m disappointed, Mostafa. I thought we were amigos. But since I can’t have my reputation sullied by false accusations…” The man called Hawk smiled, took his time pushing up his sleeves. “See? Nothing. Just like your money pouch after that last hand.”

Mostafa was not mollified. He muttered something under his breath.

“Sit down and play another hand. I’ll even spot you a few pounds since you’re on such a bad run of luck.” Hawk pushed a few bills across the table.

“I think not. I do not like you. Besides, it is beginning to stink in here.”

“Funny, your wife loves my company.”

Mostafa drew a revolver, but Hawk was faster. There was a blur of movement and Mostafa froze in place, his weapon only halfway raised. A tomahawk jutted out of his forehead.

The room went silent.

Hawk sprang to his feet and upended the table. He hurried over to Mostafa’s body and pulled his tomahawk free. All the gamblers were on their feet. Some held knives but no one wanted to be the first to confront the big Indian with the tomahawk.

“You all saw it,” Hawk said. “He drew his weapon first. He was just too slow.”

“You spoke of his wife in a disrespectful manner,” someone said.

“And he impugned my honor by accusing me of cheating.” Hawk paused, frowned. “I think impugned is the right word.”

“You can explain it to the authorities,” someone said.

“That is where you are wrong.” Hawk made a run for it, not in the direction of the door where Stone and Alex stood, but out the back door.

“What are we going to do now?” Alex asked.

“The only thing we can do,” Stone said. “We follow him.”

Stone and Rose found themselves in a narrow underground passageway. The walls were crumbling, and roots grew through the ceiling. The place looked like it could collapse at any second.

“What is this place?” Stone asked.

“The catacombs.”

Stone frowned. The catacombs were underground chambers filled with the skeletal remains of thousands of the dead. “I thought the catacombs were over on the Rive Gauche side.”

“A vast network of passageways runs beneath the city, mostly the remnants of quarry tunnels. The ossuaries only comprise a small portion of the whole.” Rose paused, took a careful step to the left. “Do not walk on the right. The floor is weakened.”

“You’ve been here before?”

“Not this particular passageway, but I know what cracks in a paving stone look like.”

“Oh, right.” Stone felt foolish. Regardless of who was taking the lead, he ought to be vigilant.

Their next set of directions were mostly cryptic references to things the man had seen along the way. It took a little while, but they soon managed to match their surroundings to the written steps. The farther they traveled, the more confident Rose became. She pointed out places where the ceiling was crumbling, and even warned him of booby traps set by some denizen of this subterranean world.

“How do you know so much about the tunnels?” Stone asked.

“I was a thief when I was younger. The underground was how I got in and out, or my means of escape if someone was chasing me. I even lived down here during difficult times in my life.” Her voice was distant, pained. Stone couldn’t help but feel sympathy for her.

“I doubt there are many who know the underground better than I,” Rose continued. “Somehow, my name and past exploits reached the ears of the wrong people, and now everyone wants my help.”

Stone frowned. What did she mean by ‘everyone’? Did she merely misspeak, or had she just let something slip? He’d been told she was an enemy. Was someone else pulling her strings? The Germans?

“You never told me your name,” Rose said.

“Smith.”

“I mean your real name. You know mine.”

“Desert Rose is your given name?” Stone asked.

“No, it’s Delilah Rose. Isn’t that terrible? Delilah means ‘delicate’.” She made a face. “My mother thought she was clever. That’s why I’m just Rose.”

“I’m just Brock.”

“Well, Brock, we have now hit a dead end. Any ideas?”

She was right. The tunnel ended at a brick wall. They were boxed in.

“Did we miss a turn?”

“I’m confident in my reading of the clues. But we are following a path laid out by a madman.” Rose bit her lip. “We can’t go back without it.”

“We might not have a choice,” Stone said.

“You might have a choice. I don’t.” Tears welled at the corners of her eyes.

“What is wrong? Did someone threaten you?”

“What do you think? I’m just a tool to you people. Disposable.”

“I’m not giving up,” Stone said. “Let’s think this through. We’re supposedly here for our respective skills. Maybe there’s something here that requires one of the tools in my toolbox.”

“You could try breaking down the brick wall with your head.”

Stone chuckled. “I would be good at that. But we’re looking for somewhere our psycho Sacagawea has already been.”

“Sack of what?” Rose asked.

“Sacagawea. She guided Lewis and Clark to the Pacific.”

“A word of advice — a joke isn’t funny if you have to explain it.”

“Understood.” Stone took a second look at the area around them. “We were guided here by an Egyptian symbol. Do you see anything that looks Egyptian?”

“All I see is graffiti.”

Words and pictures were carved or drawn all over the walls. None of it looked like a clue.

“Here is someone who thinks he’s a philosopher,” Rose said. “Listen to this. ‘Holy and perfect is the world which lives by fire.’”

Stone perked up immediately. “That is a quote from the Egyptian Book of the Dead.” He took a closer look at the inscription. This was no mere graffiti — the words were worn, but neatly engraved and lined with bronze.

Stone pressed his hand against the inscription, but nothing happened. He tried main force, but the section of wall did not budge. “This can’t be a coincidence.”

“Might the quote be important?” Rose asked. “Something having to do with fire?”

That gave Stone an idea. “I think you might be on to something. Imagine our subterranean friend is wandering through the tunnels using a torch or cigarette lighter to light his way.” Stone took out his Zippo and flicked it on. “He holds the flame near the wall so he can read the writing.” He moved his Zippo close to the wall until the flames licked the engraved letters. “The brass inside the engraving heats up and, voila!”

With a loud clunk, a hidden door swung open. Stone shined his light through. He saw rows and rows of bones. They stepped inside and looked around.

“I had no idea there was an ossuary in this part of the catacombs,” Rose said.

There was something about the rows of bones that didn’t look right to Stone. And then it struck him. Goat skulls were interspersed among the human bones. He ran his finger along a tibia and felt something strange. A closer inspection revealed sharp, straight cuts and saw marks at both ends of the bone. It didn’t take long to realize nearly all of the bones had been marred in a similar way.

“These people have been butchered,” he said.

“Maybe they were sacrificed. That looks like an altar.” Rose pointed at a rectangular block set against one wall. Its surface was stained black. “Who did this? Satanists?”

“I don’t think so.” Stone pointed up at the ceiling, where his light shined upon a familiar symbol.

“The All-Seeing Eye,” Rose marveled.

“The symbol of the Illuminati.”

Rose flinched at the mention of the secret society, made the sign of the cross. “Those people frighten me. They sit up there in their secret headquarters underneath the Pantheon, pulling strings, manipulating people.”

“How do you know for certain they really exist, much less where they are headquartered?”

“It is known,” she said simply. “Let’s find what we’ve come for and get out of here.”

“You have a prior engagement?” Stone asked.

“I’ve been known to schedule a midnight rendezvous.” Her eyes fell. “I don’t like it down here. I don’t want to stay any longer than necessary.”

At the end of the room opposite the stone altar, a body lay in an alcove. It was a man with wavy black hair and a long nose. His clothing was late nineteenth century. A spark of recognition flared in Stone’s mind.

“He is remarkably well preserved,” Rose said. “How?”

“I don’t know, but I can tell you who he is. Remy Pascal, an explorer and amateur archaeologist who disappeared about thirty years ago on an expedition in Egypt.”

“He’s holding something in his hands. Don’t look.” Rose moved between Stone and the corpse, leaned down, and pried Pascal’s hands open. “It’s a leather pouch.” She picked up the pouch, opened it, and peered inside. Her eyes sparkled. “This is it!”

“Let me see,” Stone said.

“No!” She clutched the pouch to her chest. “I was told to avoid showing it to you if at all possible. It is for your own safety. The fewer people who know about it the better, I suppose. That doesn’t bode well for me.” She forced a laugh.

Stone couldn’t find the words. Rose had no idea she was a loose end. As soon as she showed him a way out, he would have to deal with her. The catacombs would be as good a place as any to do it. No one to see or hear, no need to hide the body. He was ashamed by the clinical manner in which he assessed the situation. But he had no choice.

“If those are your orders,” Stone said.

“Thank you. I was hoping it wouldn’t be a problem. I don’t like this any more than you do.”

“You don’t know the half of it.”

Rose was in an all-fired hurry to get out of the underground. She took so many twists and turns Stone wondered if she was trying to get rid of him. After a while, nothing looked familiar to him.

“Are you taking us a different way out?”

“Yes. We came a long way. I know somewhere closer we can get to the street.”

“Where will we end up?” Stone looked up as if he could see through the ceiling.

“Among the life-giving waters.” Rose abruptly stopped and knelt. “You go ahead. I need to tighten my shoelaces. As slow as you are, you could use a head start.”

“I can’t deny it.” Stone chuckled, moved farther down the tunnel.

And then his foot sank into the ground. He had only a moment to realize he had stepped on some sort of trigger before an iron grate slammed down behind him. On the other side, Rose was running away.

“Rose!”

“I had no choice!” she shouted.

And then the ceiling collapsed.

Stone took off in hot pursuit of the big Indian. Alex’s long legs allowed him to keep close behind. Stone could see the back of Hawk’s head as he ducked in and out of the light traffic on the street. They dodged camel riders, men pulling carts, and a few confused tourists, and emerged into an open-air market.

The street was lined with colorful tents and awnings. Vendors loudly hawked their wares. Shady-looking youths lurked in the shadows, looking for potential marks to pickpocket. Hawk skirted a cart laden with fruit and disappeared among the tents that lined the street.

“Where did he go?” Alex asked.

Stone spotted a man in a flowing robe duck behind a vendor’s cart. The robe was not long enough to hide his cowboy boots. Stone grinned. “Wait here where he can see you. Keep looking around. Try to appear confused.”

“Not a problem,” Alex said.

Stone melted into the crowd, worked his way down the street, and circled back from the opposite direction. He saw Hawk kneeling down watching Alex. He moved on silent feet until he was a few feet behind the Indian.

“We mean you no harm.”

Hawk snapped his head around. His jaw dropped. “You are the first white man to ever sneak up on me.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment. And whatever you do, don’t reach for a weapon. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Think you can?” Hawk grinned as he slowly rose to his feet.

“Let’s not find out. I want to hire you for a job. I only chased you because I didn’t want you to get away before we could talk.”

Hawk looked at him cagily. “I’m not for sale.”

“Good thing I only want to rent you.”

Hawk laughed. “Funny man. Who do you work for?”

“Myself.”

“I’m not interested.” Hawk folded his arms, glared at Stone.

“Are you sure you don’t want to get out of town right about now? I imagine the law will be hot on your heels.”

“The law isn’t the problem. I’m not guilty and I know who to bribe if it comes to that.”

“You’ll need money for that, and you left a pile of it lying on the floor back in the bar.” Stone patted the wad of bills in his pocket.

Hawk nodded. “Let’s talk, but not here.”

Stone followed him to a stall where carpets and tapestries were sold. Hawk said something to the merchant, then turned to Stone.

“Give him two pounds.”

Stone handed over two bills. The man smiled, bobbed his head, then handed one of the bills to Indian, who tucked it into his pocket.

“What was that?” Stone asked.

“Finder’s fee.”

Stone smiled ruefully and followed Hawk into a tent behind the stall.

“What’s the job?” Hawk asked when they were inside.

“I need to hire a guide.”

“A white man wants an Indian to lead him around. What a surprise. Do I look like Sacajawea?”

“A little bit. Must be the hair. Put a little curl in it and you’d look like Dolores Del Rio.”

Hawk smirked. “Don’t joke about the hair. I’ve killed men for less. Tell me about the job.”

“We’re looking for a place called Kauketos. It might also be called Sobekopolis.”

Hawk threw back his head and laughed. “I’m disappointed. You don’t look like the sort of man who believes in fairy tales.”

“When you’ve seen the things I’ve seen, you lose your skepticism. Can you take us there or not?”

“It’s a death sentence.”

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

The shopkeeper poked his head in and said something to the Indian. Hawk nodded, turned to Stone.

“Let’s make this quick so we can get out of here. Two hundred pounds in advance. You pay for all the supplies.”

“One hundred in advance and another two hundred when you get us back safely,” Stone said.

“What if you don’t live?”

“You can take it off my corpse. I won’t have any use for it.”

“Deal. And one more thing.” Hawk reached inside his boot, took out the ace of spades, and handed it to Stone. “Get rid of this for me. You understand.”

Stone gave a rueful chuckle. What sort of man was he now in league with?

They met up with Alex, but instead of leading them back into the city, Hawk guided them to the outskirts of town.

“Where are we going?” Stone asked.

“There’s only one person that can tell us how to get to Sobekopolis.”

They drew plenty of stares from the locals. They made an odd-looking trio — three Americans, one of them a native, and another with a hook for a hand.

“How did you manage to catch me?” Hawk asked.

“I had a lot of specialized training,” Stone said. “If you don’t mind my asking, what’s a Cherokee doing in Egypt?”

“You can tell the nations apart? I’m impressed.” Hawk said. “As for what I’m doing here, I served as a scout in the Great War. There wasn’t anything waiting for me back home except poverty, so I drifted through Europe and down to Africa. Once I got to Cairo, I discovered I got better treatment here than I did back in the States, so I stayed.”

Stone was surprised to learn Hawk was old enough to have served. The big native appeared to be about the same age as Stone and Alex. When he said so, Hawk laughed.

“I lied about my age. I’m a big fellow and all my people look alike to your kind. Besides, the army didn’t really care how old I was — they just wanted bodies.”

Stone nodded. The official enlistment age had been nineteen, but thousands of boys barely in their teens had died serving in the war.

“Why do they call you Hawk?” Alex asked. “Is it your nose?”

“What’s wrong with my nose?”

“Nothing, I just thought…” Alex stammered, his face turned red.

“I’m joking. They call me Hawk because of this.” He patted the tomahawk hanging from his belt. “And any name is better than Absalom Bonebrake.”

Stone chuckled. Absalom was the third son of King David. He rebelled against his father and was killed when his hair snagged in a tree branch. He was pulled from his horse and hung there until King David’s men caught up to him.

They soon arrived at a private residence. Hawk spoke quietly with the man who answered the door, then beckoned for them to follow him inside.

In a room in the back of the house sat an old man with frizzy, snow white hair. His expression was blank and he muttered softly under his breath. When they got closer, Stone was surprised to realize the man was much younger than he had initially believed. Probably no more than forty.

“Who is he?” Alex asked.

“This is Darius. He’s the only person I know who claims to have found Sobekopolis. This is what it did to him.”

“Why did you wait until now to tell us?”

“I wanted you to see for yourself what you face.”

“Understood.”

Hawk turned to Darius. “These men are looking for Sobekopolis. Can you tell us how to get there.”

Darius trembled. His eyes went wide, and he began to rock back and forth and whisper to himself. Stone could just make out the words.

“Three days… over the camel’s back… canyon.”

“What does that mean?” Alex asked.

There’s a rock formation about three days west of here called Camel’s Back. We cross over it and look for a canyon.”

“The Canyon of the Three-Headed Serpent,” Alex said.

Darius whimpered at the name.

“Is that where you went, Darius?” Hawk asked.

Darius nodded. Stone had an idea. He took out the ushabti and held it up.

“Have you seen something like this before?”

Darius gasped. He sprang to his feet, let out a scream, and ran from the room.

“Nice going,” Hawk said. “Whatever he saw out there turned him into a madman. You still want to go?

“I don’t have a choice,” Stone said.

Hawk smiled. “In that case, you’ve got yourself a guide.”

The following morning, they met Hawk on the west bank of the Nile opposite Luxor. He was mounted on a nervous mule who tended to bite. He had also secured two pack mules of milder disposition and a pair of camels. Alex gaped at the camels, turned to Stone, and cocked his head.

“We’re going to ride those?” he asked.

“Unless you’d prefer to walk,” Stone said.

“Good thing we wore pants,” Trinity said to Constance.

“Be glad I was able to get anything at all,” Hawk said. “None of the reputable businessmen had any to lend. Some rich guy hired them all for a movie he’s producing.”

“Kane,” Trinity said quietly.

“Luckily for you, I have some disreputable contacts.” Hawk flashed a grin, winked at Constance.

He distributed white robes and head wraps of light fabric, which they donned over their clothing. The traditional desert garb, Hawk explained, would prevent sweat from evaporating in the heat.

They mounted up, Stone and Trinity on one camel, Alex and Constance on the other. Constance had wanted to ride in front, which led to a fresh round of bickering between the pair. Hawk put an end to it by wordlessly riding away, leading the pack mules. Chuckling, Stone and Trinity followed while Alex and Constance scrambled to mount up.

The Western Desert of Egypt covered the region west of the Nile. The parched, rock-strewn land was bounded by the Mediterranean Sea to the north, the Libyan border to the west, and the Sudan, once the kingdom of Great Kush, to the south. The land before them was a barren vista of dark brown dotted with rocks and scrub.

“It is nothing like the movies,” Constance said. “No billowy sand dunes or gracefully waving palm trees.”

“You’ll find that up north in the Great Sand Sea,” Hawk said. “Out here, it’s hills, valleys, slot canyons, gorges, and ravines.”

As they rode through the unrelenting sea of brown, Hawk told them about the sights that could be seen in the desert. To the northwest lay the Black Desert, an area of black volcanic hills and dolerite deposits. Farther north was the White Desert, an area of wind-sculpted chalk rock formations. Far to the southwest, where the borders of Egypt, Libya, and Sudan met, was the Glass Desert. There, the grains of sand had been turned to glass by a meteorite impact at some point in the distant pass.

“All of them are much more interesting than the place we’re going,” Hawk said.

The big Cherokee proved to be a competent guide. He coaxed a reasonable pace from the animals without overworking them. He also kept careful track of their water supply and made everyone drink at regular intervals.

They traveled three days through scorching heat, shivering through the chilly desert nights. Twice Hawk guided them to small freshwater springs hidden beneath eroded sandstone cliffs. The flow was barely a trickle, but it was cool and refreshing and they were able to replenish their water supply.

On the morning of the fourth day they found themselves atop a ridge, looking out across the desert landscape.

“This is the top of the Camel’s Back,” Hawk said. “Few people have any reason to travel this way so it’s not well-known. To the northwest is a canyon with an oasis. I don’t know if it’s your Canyon of the Three-Headed Serpent but it’s worth a look.”

They traveled down a path so steep they felt as if they would fall forward and tumble down the hill. The sure-footed camels and mules picked their way down with ease and they descended quickly. They had almost reached the bottom when a rumbling sound filled their ears. Stone looked back to see boulders tumbling down the hill headed right at them.

“Rockslide!” Stone and Hawk shouted in unison.

They took off down the hill, but their mounts could only go so fast. Hawk glanced back and cursed.

“We can’t reach the bottom in time. Follow me.”

Hawk turned his mule into a side passage where wind and sand had carved a channel in the sandstone plateau. It was just wide enough for the camels to fit. The boulders thundered down on them, but they escaped just in time.

“That was crazy,” Alex said. “I feared I would have to change my shorts.”

“There are ladies present,” Constance chided.

“I wouldn’t do it in front of you.”

“Nevermind.” Constance rolled her eyes and sighed loudly.

“Bad news,” Hawk said. “Our way back is blocked by rubble.”

“Is there another way to the canyon from here?” Stone asked.

“There is, but it won’t be easy going,” Hawk warned.

They led their animals through a narrow, twisting corridor. After a long, tiring trek, they found themselves at the mouth of a cave.

“I know the way through. It will bring us out inside the canyon. Be careful to step where I step,” Hawk warned. “There are pitfalls and weak spots in the floor, but if you stick with me, you’ll be safe.”

He removed a lantern from one of the packs, lit it, and led the way in. Alex produced a flashlight, one of his own design, that could be recharged by cranking a handle on the side, fired it up, and followed.

The network of caves was dark and chilly. The cool air felt downright frigid to their sunbaked skin. After a series of twists and turns, they entered a large chamber where the floor was dotted with holes.

“It looks like Swiss cheese,” Constance said.

“Stay right behind me,” Hawk told them.

Hawk took a slow, meandering path through the cave. Stone felt as if he were walking across the surface of a frozen lake, waiting for the ice to break. They had nearly reached the other side when Constance cried out.

“Get back here, you stubborn creature!” The mule she was guiding had strayed off the path.

“Constance! Let go of the lead!” Stone yelled.

Too late. Cracks formed around the mule’s hooves and then the bottom fell out. Constance shrieked as she was pulled into the hole.

“Constance!” Alex made a dive for her, and she managed to grab ahold of his hook just in time. He pulled her up and she latched onto him. “Are you all right?”

In reply, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him thoroughly. Stone and Trinity politely looked away, but not Hawk, who leered and gave Alex a thumbs-up.

“Nice job with that hook,” Hawk said. “If I ever lose a hand, you’ll be the first person I call.”

Something caught Stone’s attention. A soft, scuffling sound coming from down below. “Do you hear that?” Stone asked. Everyone fell silent.

“I hear it,” Hawk said. “We should keep moving.”

They had only gone a few paces when Trinity let out a yelp. “Look there!”

Emerging from a hole in the floor was something shiny and black with giant claws and a huge stinger. It was a scorpion the size of a horse, and it was coming for them. The floor cracked beneath its weight but it did not give.

“Everybody move!” Hawk shouted.

“I’ll cover you.” Stone handed the lead of his camel to Alex, drew his Webley, and took careful aim. The first shot struck the scorpion on the head and deflected off its hard carapace. Undaunted, it continued to pick its way across the floor.

Stone glanced back. The others were almost out of the chamber. As the scorpion came closer, he could see its chelicerae — the spike-filled mouth that looked like something out of a Boris Karloff film.

Stone focused, became one with his weapon. He squeezed off another round. This time it struck the giant arachnid right in its mouth. The scorpion let out an angry clicking sound and took a few steps back.

“You’re not the only one with a sting!” Stone shouted.

The scorpion raised its tail, tensed. And then Stone remembered some scorpions could spray venom.

“Oh no.”

The scorpion swung its tail from right to left, spraying venom in a wide arc. Stone rolled behind a pile of rubble as the deadly fluid spattered the ground. The scorpion was coming again. How could he stop it? The thing was like a tank.

A loud crack echoed through the corridor, then another. Cracks spread out beneath the scorpion’s legs as it crept forward. The floor was so close to giving way!

Stone stood, chose his target carefully, and fired at the floor in front of the scorpion. Shots pinged off the rocky surface. More cracks appeared, spreading out like cobwebs across the dark surface.

“Come on.” He squeezed off round after round. The floor kept cracking, but it held. He had one bullet left. He chose his spot carefully and fired.

No joy.

“You have got to be kidding me.” Angry and frustrated, he picked up a football-sized rock and hurled it at the beast. The scorpion batted the rock down with one of its claws. The rock struck the floor with a sharp crack — and then the cracked floor shattered beneath the creature’s feet. With a loud clicking, it plunged into darkness.

“That was close.” Breathing a deep sigh of relief, Stone retrieved his lantern and took off after the others.

Stone felt like he was slowly being crushed beneath the foot of a giant. He lay underneath a pile of rubble. His ears rang and every inch of his body hurt. He touched his hand to his head, and it came away wet with blood. Anger burned through him.

“She set me up. She warned me of every booby trap except this one.”

The pieces fell into place. Rose was a double agent for the Illuminati. That was how she knew the location of their headquarters. The ‘midnight rendezvous’ was a meeting to hand over the thing they had found. His watch read eleven o’clock. He had one hour to escape the catacombs and find the “life-giving waters”.

He wobbled to his feet, picked up his flashlight, and proceeded down the passageway. Soon, he heard traffic above him. And then he caught a whiff of freshly-baked bread. To his left, a series of rungs led up to a trapdoor in the ceiling. No telling where it went, but it was the first possible way out he had seen.

He climbed up and pushed on the trapdoor. It didn’t budge. He gave it a harder shove and it swung open with a crash. Stone poked his head through. He had upended a cart on which balls of dough were rising. He was inside a bakery.

A door swung open and someone yelped. A blue eyed blonde stood in the doorway. Their eyes met and she began to laugh.

“The universe told me I would see you again, but I thought you would arrive by the front door.”

“Manon!” Stone had never felt more foolish in his life. “Sorry, I was lost in the catacombs. What are the odds I would end up here?”

“The odds are quite good when the universe steps in.” Manon pursed her lips, furrowed her brow. “You are hurt.”

“The roof caved in on me.”

“Come. I will clean you up.” She led him to a back room where she cleaned and bandaged his wounds.

“Manon, can you think of a place in the city associated with ‘life-giving waters’? Possibly with an Egyptian connection?”

She thought for a moment, then smiled. “The Fontaine du Palmier! Four sphinxes with water pouring from their mouths. I have heard them called what you said.”

“Where is it?”

“At the Place du Châtelet, across from Pont du Change.”

“I am completely lost in that sentence,” Stone said.

“On the Right Bank of the Seine, one bridge east from where we met. It is very close.”

“Thank you. You’ve been more helpful than you could possibly know.”

Manon’s curious smile faded. “Then why do you look so unhappy?”

“There is something I have to do, and I don’t know if I’ll ever be the same afterward.”

“You will not be,” Manon said. “But change is not always bad. You can find a better path.”

“I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

“Wait a moment.” She hurried upstairs and returned carrying a pocket-sized book. “Do not think about it right now.” She tucked the book inside his jacket pocket. “But when you are ready to change, read this book. It will help.”

“Thank you.” It was an inadequate reply, but he could think of nothing else to say.

“You are welcome.” Manon kissed him gently on the lips. “Some day you will return and tell me your real name.”

Rose paced nervously back and forth across the plaza of the Place du Châtelet. It was empty this time of night. The sound of rushing water pouring from the mouths of the four sphinxes that sat at the corners of the fountains.

“Hurry,” she whispered. “I just want this to be over.”

“It will be over soon enough.”

She spun around to see a large, thickly built man standing behind her. He wore a mask, which startled her for a moment, but then she relaxed. Hiding his identity was good. If she saw his face, she doubted she would live to tell the story.

“You have it?” the man asked.

Rose handed over the leather pouch. He upended it and shook the contents out onto his gloved palm. It was a small, finely carved figure of a human with the head of a crocodile. An Egyptian artifact found by Remy Pascal on his final expedition.

“You did well.” The man tucked the figure back into its pouch. Next, he took an envelope out of his pocket and handed it to her. “As I promised.”

“The negatives are in here, too?” Rose asked.

“See for yourself.”

Before she could look inside a dark figure burst from the shadows. He plowed into the masked man, knocking him onto his back. The leather pouch flew from the man’s hand.

“Brock!” Rose gasped.

Brock, whose last name she still did not know, was pummeling the masked man. He was a ball of rage, half out of his mind.

“You’re killing him!” Rose shouted.

Stone froze, slowly turned to face her. “Didn’t you know? That is my job.”

Rose’s blood turned to ice. “Let me explain. I didn’t know the ceiling was going to collapse on you. I just needed to get away.”

“So you could hand this over to the Illuminati?” He picked up the leather pouch and waved it at her.

“I don’t know who it was for. I was being blackmailed. It was the only way to prevent these from getting out.” She held up the envelope and Stone snatched it out of her hand. “Please don’t look at those.”

Stone took out the photos and shuffled through them. His face turned scarlet and his hands trembled.

“Eichmann, Himmler, Göring. You’re working with the Nazis, too?”

“I was hired to perform at some grand soiree. I didn’t know who any of them were until one of your people used these photos to force me into helping you. And then that man,” she pointed at the unconscious masked man, “showed up at the cabaret and said if I gave whatever I found to him, he would give me the photos and negatives.”

Stone’s face went rigid. The fire in his eyes turned to ice.

“Whether you’re Nazi, Illuminati, or working for yourself, my job is the same.”

“No, Brock!” Rose backed away. Stone produced a pistol from inside his jacket. Rose turned and ran.

Rose dashed across the street and onto Pont du Change. In a matter of seconds, Stone’s footsteps were right behind her. Desperate to get away, she climbed up onto the rail and froze. It looked like a long way down to the dark waters of the Seine. Deep water terrified her. Her only chance was to jump but her body betrayed her. She was frozen between two terrors.

Stone stood ten paces away, his pistol trained on her. His hand was rock steady. Rose began to cry.

“Please,” she whispered.

“It’s like you said to me.” His voice quavered. “I have no choice.”

He squeezed the trigger.

Sunset came early to the Canyon of the Three-Headed Serpent. Cloaked in shadow, they rode along the deep, winding gorge until it split into a trio of box canyons — the ‘heads’ of the serpent. They dismounted. Hawk took out his spyglass and looked around.

“Someone is already here.” Hawk said as he peered at the oasis in the center canyon. “I see camels, packs, a few people milling around.”

“It’s got to be John Kane,” Stone said. “I can’t believe they got here ahead of us.”

“Their guide must have known a shorter route,” Hawk said. “I did the best I could.”

“You got us here safely. That’s the most important thing.”

“Is that the Head of the Serpent?” Trinity pointed to the rim of the canyon at a stone formation that resembled a cobra poised to strike.

“It doesn’t touch anything,” Alex said.

“The setting sun is striking it,” Stone said. “Follow the shadow.” He pointed at the place where the shadow touched the opposite wall of the canyon down at the base. A group of people were gathered there. Just then, a cheer rose up from Kane’s people.

“Looks like they’ve broken through,” Hawk said. “Saves us the trouble of finding the way in.”

“May I borrow that?” Stone asked.

Hawk handed him the spyglass. Stone had exceptional eyesight. With the spyglass, he could clearly make out three people standing in the shade of a palm tree. There were two men and a woman.

“I see John Kane and Magda Fischer.”

“The movie star? Really? Give me that back.” Hawk reached for the spyglass.

“Wait a moment. I’m trying to get a look at the other man, but he’s got his back to us.” Just then, the fellow turned around. Stone recognized him immediately.

“Cripes, it’s Professor Ratliff! That duplicitous crumb.” Stone shook his head. “He knew more about this place than he was letting on.”

“Maybe we’ll get a chance to give him some payback.” Hawk’s eyes twinkled as he put a hand to his tomahawk. “Now we need to figure out how to get inside with all these people around.”

“Wait until nightfall, slip past the guards. Disable them if we have to.”

“You think you can do that?” Hawk asked.

“Yes,” Stone said simply.”

“Let’s get on with it, then.”

“You don’t have to go inside with us,” Stone said. “You did your part getting us here.”

“I’m not abandoning you. And who knows, there might be gold down there.”

As darkness crept in, Stone and Hawk scouted out John Kane’s camp. Kane had brought only a small group along. A couple of people were seated by the fire and two big men guarded the entry to the temple. Everyone else had gone inside.

“How about I kill the men by the fire, you eliminate the guards?” Hawk asked.

“I’d prefer to disable them if we can. I try not to kill unless absolutely necessary.”

“You think you’re the Lone Ranger or something?” Hawk asked. “Because I am definitely not Tonto.”

“I wouldn’t dream of calling you that. Let’s get the others and put our plan into action.”

When night fell, the group crept up to the mouth of the box canyon. Two men sat by a campfire, two more guarded the entrance to the temple.

“Are you sure you’re all right with this?” Stone asked Trinity.

“We’ll be fine. Come on, Constance.”

Trinity and Constance rose and stumbled into the firelight. The men seated there were shocked to see them, but that did not stop them from casting hungry eyes on the ladies.

“Can you help us?” Constance said. “We were touring the desert and got separated from our guide.”

“A tour way out here?” one man said.

“The guide got lost,” Trinity said. “Please, we don’t know what to do.”

“We will be happy to help,” the first man said. “Why don’t you come inside our tent and rest for a while? We’ll get you some water.” He turned to his friend and grinned.

The women were not fooled but they played along. They turned and walked to the tent. Behind them, the men picked up coils of rope and crept up behind them.

A shadow sprang out from the other side of the tent. There was a flurry of punches and grunts. Next thing Stone knew, the men were on the ground and Hawk was tying them up with their own rope.

“What was that commotion?” one of the guards said.

“Go find out,” his partner said.

“Mister Kane told us not to leave our post.”

“Who exactly are we guarding against? There’s no one out here. Besides, you won’t be going far.”

The first guard drew a revolver and reluctantly stalked toward the flickering fire. He cast a long shadow across the canyon floor. Now that the second guard was alone, Stone made his move.

Like a breath of air, he swept silently across the intervening space, and drove a punch into the unsuspecting man’s temple. It was a blow that would have rendered most men unconscious, but this bruno was a mountain of a man. His knees wobbled, but he remained on his feet.

Stone followed with a side kick that buckled the guard’s knee. The man grunted, drew his sidearm. Stone gave him a chop to the wrist just below the base of the thumb and the weapon fell to the ground. Another well aimed punch to the temple and the goon was out.

Behind him, there was a commotion near the fire. A shot rang out. Constance screamed. Stone turned and drew his Webley but before he could make a move, Hawk sprang up out of nowhere and struck the man a heavy blow with the flat of his tomahawk. The man staggered. Hawk plunged his Bowie knife into the thug’s hamstring, then caught the man in a chokehold before he could cry out.

“Consider yourself lucky my boss is keeping me on a leash,” Hawk said as Kane’s guard lapsed into unconsciousness and slumped to the ground.

“Nice work,” Stone said. “But did you really have to stab him?”

“No.” Hawk flashed a wolfish grin. “But if you won’t let me kill, at least let me draw blood.”

“Fair enough. Let’s bound and gag these men and stash them in the tent.”

“And then?” Trinity asked.

“Then we enter the temple.”

They descended into darkness. The tunnel sloped sharply downward. The air grew cooler as they moved along. Dust coated every surface.

“This place gives me the creeps,” Alex said.

They came to a spot where the passageways diverged. They examined both passageways and saw no obvious differences between the two.

“Which way do we go?” Trinity asked.

“We could try one, and if it doesn’t lead anywhere, try the other,” Alex suggested.

“I prefer to make an educated guess whenever possible,” Trinity said. “If anyone actually bothered to look into the passageways, they would see that the passage on the right is a dead end.” She shined her light down the tunnel. Fifty paces away it terminated in a blank wall.

“It’s the one on the left, then,” Constance said.

She led the way down the tunnel on the left, followed by Alex and Trinity. Stone was about to step through when something caught his eye. There was something different about the section of floor just ahead of where Constance walked. It was sunken ever so slightly, only a fraction of an inch.

“Constance, stop!” Stone shouted.

It was too late. Her foot touched the sunken space and the floor gave way under her weight. A split second later, a door slammed down, missing Stone by an inch. He and Hawk were now stuck on the opposite side of the door. The immediately tried to raise it, but to no avail.

“It’s no good,” Hawk said. “It’s too heavy.”

“Booby trapped,” Stone said. “The designers put the trigger a short distance down the passageway in order to trap the intruders on the other side of the door.” He called Trinity’s name, pounded on the stone door.

Hawk put his ear to the door. “I can’t hear a thing. It’s too thick.”

“Look for a release mechanism.”

They searched every inch of the area around the doorways but found nothing to open the door.

“What are we going to do now?” Hawk asked. “They’re trapped and the other tunnel leads to nowhere.”

“I’m not so sure about that. If this way is booby trapped, there must be a way through on the other side.”

“A false wall?” Hawk asked.

“Let’s find out.”

They made their way to the wall that blocked the opposite passageway. They searched for a release mechanism but didn’t find one. Hawk tried lifting it and pushing it without success.

“I’m stumped,” Hawk said.

They stepped back and took a second look. Stone’s sharp eyes picked out two images engraved on the door. He brushed away the dust to get a better look. On the left was the ram-headed symbol of the Egyptian god Amun. On the right was the eye of Osiris.

“I’ve got a feeling there’s one right answer and one very wrong answer,” Hawk said.

“Let me think,” Stone scratched his chin, puzzling over the problem. “Amun is the god of sun and sky. Osiris rules the underworld.”

“Good and evil?” Hawk asked.

“Not necessarily. Osiris was the god of death and rebirth.”

“We want to go down, don’t we?” Hawk stepped forward, put his hand over the eye, and gave a firm shove. The door swung open.

“Nicely done,” Stone said.

The corridor led them deep underground. As they descended, Stone realized the ushabti was emanating a faint glow. He frowned. What could that mean?

There was no time to wander. They heard voices up ahead, turned a corner and saw light and movement. Stone sensed a large, open space up ahead.

They crept forward and emerged on a ledge looking down into a torchlit chamber. A square pyramid of crystalline cubes stood at the center of the space. It was about twelve feet tall. The light danced across its surface and deep inside it a dot of blue light flickered.

A sarcophagus lay before the pyramid. Kane, Fischer, and Ratliff were examining it. Trinity, Alex, and Constance stood to one side, guarded by two armed thugs.

At Fischer’s command, four of Kane’s goons removed the sarcophagus lid and set it aside to reveal a casket. Painted on its lid was the image of a lion-headed woman.

“Ugly girl,” Hawk said. “There’s not enough liquor in the world to get me to kiss her.”

“It’s Sekhmet, the warrior goddess. The Night Queen was obsessed with her.”

The men removed the casket lid. A mummy lay inside. Fischer produced an obsidian knife and sliced through the wrappings. She pulled them apart to reveal the face of the Night Queen. She had alabaster skin, full lips, and jet-black hair. Even in death, she was beautiful and terrible.

“Yineput,” Fishcher said softly, caressing the mummy’s cheek. “Soon you will sleep no more.” She sliced open the wrappings over the queen’s chest, pulled them back. Yineput lay in silent repose, her arms crossed over her chest.

“Idiots,” Hawk said. “Never disturb a mummy. Haven’t they heard of the Curse of the Pharaohs?”

“Bring me the canopic jars!” Fischer ordered. Men hurried to obey. They placed the jars on the ground at her feet. Fischer then cut an opening in the Night Queen’s abdomen.

She turned to Ratliff who stood nearby holding a gold tablet. At Fischer’s command, he cleared his throat and began to read aloud. His voice resonated through the chamber, and as he spoke, the torches dimmed.

The words were in Ancient Egyptian, which Stone had studied for a mission yeares ago. He was surprised at how much he remembered.

One by one, Fischer opened the canopic jars and returned the preserved organs to Yineput’s body until all that remained was the heart. Fischer removed the heart from the jar and held it aloft.

“The Night Queen shall rise again!” she proclaimed. “Their armies will march beneath our flag, and Germany shall rule the world!” With that she returned Yineput’s heart to her body.

Ratliff read one final line from the tablet.

The effect was immediate. The torches flickered and died. The room went black.

“Did it work?” Kane said.

The pyramid blazed to life, filling the chamber with brilliant light. And now Stone could see what he had missed before. Deep alcoves ringed the temple. Each was filled with statues of tall, powerful, jackal headed soldiers. Each was armed with a khopesh and a spear.

“Anubis warriors,” Stone whispered.

The Night Queen opened her eyes. She climbed out of her casket and stood naked before the pyramid. The cut in her abdomen had healed and her skin was now flawless. Beauty and hatred radiated from her in equal measure.

“I know she’s evil, but I would be tempted,” Hawk said.

“The downfall of men throughout history,” Stone said.

The queen looked at Fischer, cocked her head, and said something in Ancient Egyptian.

“What did she say?” Fischer asked.

“I think she wants to know who we are,” Ratliff said.

“Queen Yineput, we have brought you back to life so that you may continue your work. Together, we will conquer Africa and then the world.”

The queen replied with a single word. Stone couldn’t quite make it out, but her harsh tone said she wasn’t pleased.

“I don’t think she speaks English,” Kane said.

Moving faster than Stone would have believed possible. Yineput snatched the obsidian dagger out of Fischer’s hand.

“Finish the incantation quickly,” Fischer said to Ratliff. “We need to control her.”

Ratliff began to read, but his voice was weak, and he stumbled over the words. Sweat dripped from his brow and his shoulders heaved from heavy breathing.

The queen took a step forward and smacked the tablet out of Ratliff’s hands. She grabbed the professor by the throat and held him aloft. Ratliff struggled to escape her clutches, but she was too strong. He kicked and thrashed, his face turning from red to purple. When the fight finally left him, the queen flung his limp body across the room.

“Yineput!” Fischer said, a note of panic in her voice. “I gave you life. Obey your master!”

The Night Queen raised her head and uttered a single word that that shook the temple. The pyramid turned blood red.

“What just happened?” Hawk said.

“She said ‘rise.’ I think she’s waking her army.” Stone pointed to one of the alcoves. The Anubis warriors were coming to life.

Two at a time, the Anubis warriors marched out of their alcoves. Kane’s men drew their sidearms and fired. The bullets bit deeply into the warriors’ bodies but did not stop them.

“Now’s our chance!” Stone said. He leaped down off the ledge and into the midst of the chaos. Hawk dropped down beside him. “You find Constance and I’ll get Trinity.”

Hawk gave a quick nod, drew his tomahawk and Bowie knife, and dashed into the fight. He ducked a vicious sword stroke from an Anubis warrior, slashed it across the wrist, and kept running.

Stone drew his Webley and looked around for Trinity. He spotted her in the middle of the crowd. She was on hands and knees crawling toward the sarcophagus. What was she doing?

The Night Queen lifted Magda Fischer off the ground. She screamed, kicked and punched, but Yineput did not seem to feel it. She turned and headed toward the pyramid.

“Mags!” John Kane drew a pistol and emptied it into the queen’s back to no effect. He dropped his weapon and tried to tackle the queen around the ankles. Yineput cast a scornful frown down at him and kicked him in the head. Kane went still.

Stone ran to Trinity, who clutched the golden tablet. “I thought we might need this if we’re going to stop this madness,” she said.

“Good call. But first we need to get to safety.”

Stone turned to see one of the warriors charging toward him. He shot the warrior twice in the head, but it only flinched and slowed down for a few seconds before continuing its attack. Stone put his body between Trinity and the warrior as they backed away.

“They’re hard to kill,” Trinity said.

“I noticed.” Stone fired again, struck the warrior’s knee. It stumbled, righted itself, and limped toward him.

“Imagine trying to stop an army of these on the battlefield,” she continued.

“I’d rather not.” An army like this could sweep across north Africa, giving the

Germans control of the Mediterranean coast from Alexandria to Casablanca. And from there it was only a short hop across the Straits of Gibraltar to western Europe. Trapped between the German army to the east and the Night Queen’s forces to the west, France, Belgium and Luxembourg would be crushed like a grape. And that was only the beginning.

Stone fired another shot at the warrior. The bullet struck the creature in the heart. Now he got a reaction. The warrior stopped in its tracks, roared in pain. Stone’s next bullet to the heart caused it to stagger. The third finally brought it down.

“The heart is its vulnerable spot, but one shot won’t do it,” he said.

The Night Queen stood atop the pyramid. She still held Fischer. The actress struggled, tried to break free, but to no avail. Yineput opened her mouth wide and spat out a black cloud.

“What is that?” Trinity asked.

“Nothing good. Of that I’m certain.”

Atop the pyramid, they saw the Night Queen press her lips to Fischer’s. A black cloud surrounded them. Fischer thrashed, then twitched, and finally collapsed. Her limp body thudded down the side of the pyramid and came to rest beside the casket. The queen cried out in ecstasy.

“Where are the others?” Trinity said.

Stone caught a glimpse of red hair on the opposite side of the chamber, moving toward an open passageway.

“Over there. Come on.” He took Trinity by the hand, but before they could take two steps, a trio of Anubis warriors came marching toward them. He couldn’t fight them all. They would have to find another way.

“There’s an empty passageway behind us,” Trinity said. “Let’s go.”

They fled along a dark passageway and the Night Queen’s soldiers followed. They turned a corner, then another, and found themselves inside a room laden with treasure. Barrels and chests overflowed with gold and gemstones. Pottery, statues, and weapons filled the room.

“There’s no way out,” Trinity said.

Stone could hear the approach of the Anubis warriors. Time was running out.

“What is that glowing in your pocket?” Trinity asked.

Stone took out the ushabti and held it up. It shone bright green. “The deeper we go, the brighter it gets.”

“Maybe it’s guiding us somewhere?”

Stone looked around. An open casket leaned against the far wall. Inside stood the mummified remains of a person with an impossibly long snout. Where the wrapping had crumbled, he saw long, sharp teeth.

“That’s some sort of crocodilian.” They ran to the casket. The ushabti burned ever brighter. Stone gave the mummy a quick examination but saw nothing that could help them.

“What’s back here?” Trinity shoved the casket aside. It struck the ground, shattered, and the mummy rolled out onto the floor.

Where the coffin had was an engraving of a crocodile’s head. Inside its mouth, an oval had been carved out. It was the same size and shape as the base of the ushabti.

“They’re coming!” Trinity said. The Anubis warriors were only seconds away.

Stone pressed the base of the ushabti into the hole and twisted. Green fire filled the lines of the engraved crocodile and a section of wall swung back. They didn’t wait to see what was on the other side. Stone grabbed the ushabti and they ducked into the open passageway.

Behind them, the Anubis warriors reached the door just before it slammed shut. One of them shoved its arm through, preventing the door from closing. Stone and Trinity ran.

The passageway sloped down at a steep angle and the air grew warm and damp. With every step the ushabti shone brighter.

“I think we’re heading in the right direction,” Stone said.

“Right direction to do what?” Trinity said. “It would have been nice if Orion had left us some instructions.”

“I guess he trusts us to figure it out.”

“That’s because he never met you. You can be a bit obtuse.”

“That’s unkind.” Stone grinned. “But sometimes accurate.”

“What about Alex and Constance?”

“Hopefully, Hawk got them out of there. But there was nothing we could do surrounded by Anubis warriors.” Stone prayed his friends were all right.

The passageway opened into a vast cavern. Water dripped from stalactites down to an underground lake. Stone columns carved to resemble bundles of reeds were set in the walls all around the chamber. A narrow walkway led to a small marble pyramid in the middle of the lake. They made a run for it.

“What do you expect to find in the pyramid?” Trinity asked.

“I don’t know, but at least the narrow pathway will force the warriors to come at us one at a time.” Privately he thought he didn’t have enough ammunition to hold them off for long.

Rose seemed to fall in slow motion. The shock and hurt in her eyes was more than Stone could bear. This was the worst thing he had ever done. The fact that he had done it for his country didn’t change the evil nature of the act itself. He watched Rose’s body sink beneath the water and then he turned and ran. He didn’t slow down until he reached the Left Bank.

Stone stopped in front of the Church of Saint-Severin. Suddenly dizzy, he clutched the wrought iron fence that barred the way to the thousand-year-old church, and stared up at its imposing bell tower. He tried to pray, but words failed him.

He didn’t know how long he stood there, trying and failing to ask for forgiveness. Like his grandfather used to say, “The only real apology is changed behavior.” Only a hypocrite asked for forgiveness without making a change.

Finally, he turned and walked away. Soon, this would all be over. He could be his own man. Perhaps then he could earn absolution.

He found a dance hall that was open late and borrowed their phone. He dialed the number he had been given — USA76. It rang twice before someone picked up on the other end.

“I’ve got it,” he said.

“Where are you?” The voice was that of Lemon Face.

Stone gave his location. Five minutes later, a Puegot pulled up to the curb. Stone slid into the back seat and the vehicle pulled away.

“You have it?” Lemon face asked.

Stone kept his eyes straight ahead as he handed over the leather pouch. Lemon Face opened the bag, looked inside, and beamed.

“Well done. You will receive a letter of commendation in your file.”

“Thank you,” Stone said without conviction.

“I know this is not easy. I did the job for many years. I focus on the fact that I’m doing it in the service of something greater than myself.”

Up front, the thick-necked driver from earlier in the day glared at Stone in the rearview mirror. His face was a swollen, bloody mess.

“What happened to him?” Stone asked quietly.

“Set upon by robbers as he was walking through Place du Châtelet. Can you imagine how many men it must have taken to do that to him?”

“No, I can’t.” Stone’s head was buzzing. Was anyone what they seemed?

“I need to deliver this to my superior and then we will deliver you to the train station.”

Stone nodded, too weary and confused to speak. Only a few more months to go and then I’m free.

They pulled up in front of an imposing structure with Greek style columns and a high dome. A man cloaked in shadow waited at the bottom of the steps. Lemon Face hurried over, exchanged a few words, handed the pouch to the man.

“What is this place?” Stone asked.

“The Pantheon,” the driver said. “The brass have a meeting room down below it, but you didn’t hear that from me.”

Stone remembered what Rose had said.

“They sit up there in their secret headquarters underneath the Pantheon, pulling strings, manipulating people.”

Stone suddenly felt untethered from reality, like he was floating. None of this was happening. He closed his eyes and tried to breathe. It was he who had been working for the Illuminati all along.

At the station, he bought his ticket and boarded the train in a daze. They soon departed and while the other passengers tried to sleep, he stared out the window until the lights of Paris faded away. He felt something in his pocket and remembered the book Manon had given him.

It was titled The Path to Inner Peace by Jetsun. He opened to the first chapter and began to read.

“High in the mountains of Tibet lies a monastery no Western man has ever seen…”

Inside the pyramid stood a marble throne. Upon it sat a man with the head of a crocodile. The crocodile god Sobek! He wore a feathered headdress and held a scepter in his right hand. His left hand, which traditionally held an ankh, was empty.

The ushabti was burning like a tiny sun. It seemed to pull Stone toward the statue. He trusted his gut and placed the figurine in Sobek’s empty hand.

The effect was immediate. Green light shot out from the ushabti and spread across the surface of the statue. Cracks formed in the surface and the rock began to crumble. Stone caught a glimpse of olive green flesh.

Outside, the water roiled and the cavern shook. The water line dropped precipitously. Whirlpools formed all around. Up from the lake rose temples, statues, and obelisks joined by bridges and ornate pathways.

“Sobekopolis,” Stone said.

And then Sobek stood. The crocodile god shook of the remnants of his marble prison. He turned a questioning eye at the man and woman standing inside his pyramid.

“We were just returning your ushabti.” Stone pointed at the carved figure. Sobek looked down at it. His crocodilian features betrayed no emotion.

“An evil queen has sent her warriors into your home!” Trinity pointed down the walkway where a line of Anubis warriors approached.

Sobek hissed, took a step toward them.

“You can read Ancient Egyptian, can’t you?” Trinity said.

“A bit.”

Trinity shoved the golden tablet into his hands. “Read the last line — the bit Ratliff couldn’t manage.”

“What makes you think I can do it where he couldn’t?” Stone asked.

“Unlike him, you are not a coward.”

Sobek took another step in their direction, and they backed out of the pyramid.

Stone looked down at the text, fixed his mind, and read the line loudly and forcefully.

“Sobek, by your name I bind you to my will.”

Sobek froze in his tracks, locked eyes with Stone. The force of his presence was tremendous, so great that an ordinary person would crumble under its weight. Stone had the benefit of years of learning mental discipline at the feet of some of the greatest masters in the world. Still, it was a struggle to concentrate. He focused on the memory of the Night Queen standing atop her bloody pyramid, and tried to send the image into Sobek’s mind.

She has desecrated your city, Stone thought. Her minions invade this sacred space.

Sobek hissed, clacked his jaws, and strode out onto the walkway. The Anubis warriors froze at the sight of him.

The crocodile god struck the ground with the butt of his scepter. It made a sound like a deep bass note, and a wave of energy passed through Stone and Trinity. He saw movement all around him. Crocodilian warriors like the mummy they had seen above emerged from every building. Sobek hissed and the sound echoed throughout the chamber.

His crocodile army charged.

The Anubis warriors turned to flee but found themselves surrounded by the soldiers of Sobek. The fight was short and brutal as the crocodilians made quick work of their outnumbered enemies.

Sobek hissed again and pointed with his scepter toward the passageway from which the Anubis warriors had emerged. His army surged forward, eager to cleanse the temple of the Night Queen’s scourge.

Sobek turned an eye on Stone and Trinity. Stone clutched the tablet, ready to issue the command again. But the crocodile god only stared for a second, then strode away, following his army.

“We won’t be leaving by that tunnel any time soon,” Stone said when he could breathe again. Sobek’s army was bottlenecked at the entrance to the passageway as they all fought to make their way up to the Night Queen’s temple.

“How about there?” Trinity pointed to another passageway on the opposite side of the cavern.

“Can’t hurt to try.”

They jogged through the now empty city and made their way up a winding corridor. Soon, they heard the sounds of battle up ahead and emerged on the floor of Yineput’s temple.

Sobek’s army was engaged in a pitched battle with the invaders. The Anubis warriors fought with demonic ferocity, but they had only swords, spears, and light armor. The crocodilians had weapons of their own, but they had the natural gifts of a hide as tough as any armor, mighty jaws lined with razor sharp teeth, and powerful tails that could break bones.

An Anubis warrior spotted Stone and Trinity hiding in the shadows. It let out a howl like an angry coyote, and made a run for them. It had advanced only a few paces when a Sobek warrior charged in from the side. It lashed out with its tail and struck the Anubis warrior in the shins. The Night Queen’s minion fell flat on its face. Before it could rise, the Crocodilian’s jaws clamped down on its head. The crocodilian whipped its head back and forth until the Anubis warrior’s jackal head tore free from its body. He threw the head aside and charged back into the fray.

Yineput stood atop her pyramid, urging her minions on. A black cloud swirled above her head. She pointed, and a tendril of darkness shot out like a tentacle, grabbed a crocodilian around the waist, and proceeded to squeeze the life out of it.

“Any sign of the others?” Stone said.

“I don’t see them.” Trinity looked up at Stone. “How are we going to get out of here?”

“There’s a way out over there.” Stone pointed to a nearby passageway. “We need a distraction.”

He got his wish as Sobek entered the temple. He stood a head above the others. The sun disc on his headdress shone brightly, filling the cavern with its radiant glow. The Anubis warriors gave way before him as he made his inexorable march to the pyramid.

Yineput cried out, tried to rally her troops, but the tide had turned against her minions. Stone could practically sense her desperation as she hurled spears of darkness at the Crocodile god. But all of her missiles evaporated in the glow of Sobek’s sun disc.

“I think this is our chance,” Stone said. “Run!”

They skirted the temple at a full sprint. None of the warriors paid them any mind. The fighting had ceased as the troops watched Sobek mount the temple. The Night Queen shrieked and gesticulated, ordering her troops to fight, but none were willing to face a god.

As they entered the tunnel, Stone stole a glance back. Sobek had Yineput trapped in his jaws. Her screams drowned in blood as she was slowly crushed. With a jerk of his head, Sobek flung her limp body aside. Her broken body tumbled down the pyramid and lay still.

The pyramid turned from blood red to brilliant green. Sobek raised his scepter and hissed. All the warriors, crocodile and jackal alike, genuflected before him.

“Stop staring,” Trinity said. “Let’s get out of here before he decides to purge the rest of the unwanted intruders.”

They made their way unimpeded out of the temple. Alex and Constance were waiting for them.

“Where is Hawk?” Stone asked.

“He cut the leads on all of Kane’s camels and is driving them away,” Alex said. “Any of their lot who escape will have to do so on foot.”

“Have you seen Kane or Fischer?” Stone asked.

“Kane got out ahead of us. We saw him riding away,” Constance said.

“And Fischer?”

“She is right here.”

Stone froze, turned slowly to see Magda Fischer holding a knife to Trinity’s throat. Stone drew his Webley.

“Don’t!” Fischer warned as she pressed her knife into Trinity’s flesh. A trickle of blood oozed down Trinity’s neck. “If I press any harder, she dies.”

“It’s over,” Stone said. “The Night Queen is gone. Your plan has failed.”

“You think so?” Fischer’s laugh was like a blizzard in summertime. “How little you understand.”

“What do you want?” Stone said.

“I want the tablet. I wanted the Night Queen’s army, but Sobek’s forces will do just as well.”

“Don’t let her have it,” Trinity said. “I’ll gladly trade my life for the thousands she and her fascist friends will slaughter.”

“He won’t kill me,” Fischer said. “I have it on good authority that your friend has a problem killing women.”

Visions of Rose flashed through Stone’s mind. He remembered the moment as if it were yesterday.

His pistol was aimed at her heart. Squeeze the trigger and his mission was complete. He must have flinched at the last instant, missed her heart by inches. He had failed to kill her, and he wasn’t sorry, because in the end, it was he who had unknowingly been doing the Illuminati’s work.

Today was a different story.

“That is where you’re wrong,” Stone said. “Rose was a friend. You, however, are the face of evil.”

His bullet took Fischer in her right eye. She spun away and fell flat on her face.

Trinity ran to him and caught him in a tight squeeze. “You did the right thing,” she whispered. “She was terrible.”

“I know, but I still don’t feel good about it.”

Hawk returned a few minutes later and they journeyed back to where they had left their camels and pack mule, mounted up, and began the slow trek to civilization. Stone didn’t talk much on the way back. He was grappling with feelings too deep for words. He had long ago accepted the fact that taking a life was sometimes necessary, but it came with a cost to all but the most hardened sociopath.

He was still brooding when they checked into the Winter Palace Hotel in Luxor. When they reached their rooms, Trinity pulled him aside.

“Stop being so hard on yourself,” she said. “You did the right thing.”

“Then why does it feel wrong?”

“Sometimes the right thing feels like the wrong thing. That’s why we have to trust our brain and our heart.” She gave him a squeeze and he felt himself relax for the first time in days.

“What is your heart telling you right now?” he asked.

Trinity grinned. “It’s telling me I want to take the longest bath in recorded history.”

The offices of Kane Industries were strangely quiet when John Kane entered. His employees, who normally greeted him warmly, cast nervous glances in his direction and said only a few words before hurrying away. His footsteps echoed down the quiet hall as he walked to his office. It was odd. He had only been gone for a few months, but they treated him like a stranger.

Patricia, his longtime secretary, nearly jumped out of her skin when he stepped through the door. “Mister Kane! It’s you!”

“Who else would it be?” He tried and failed to flash his trademark confident smile, but it fizzled.

The events at the Night Queen’s temple had a profound effect on him. Until the moment Yineput rose from the dead, he hadn’t truly believed in the supernatural. Magda’s Nazi friends and his own Illuminati allies were true believers. Kane always leaned toward a scientific explanation for anything that appeared to defy the known laws of nature. But he was deeply indebted to both and had no choice but to indulge their every whim — pyramid power, the Bermuda Triangle, Egyptian curses, and all the rest.

A wave of shame washed over him at the thought of Magda. When he had come to, the Anubis warriors were slaughtering his men. Kane had fled like a coward with no thought for anyone but himself.

At least I’m alive. Which is more than I can say for Magda.

“They told us you were dead.” Patricia directed a glance at Kane’s office door.

Kane wasn’t surprised. It had taken him a week to find his way back to Luxor. He had arrived sunburned, dehydrated, and half-starved. The specter of the Night Queen haunted his dreams and he saw jackal-headed warriors around every corner. He spent a week holed up in a hotel room with the door locked and the curtains drawn before he summoned the strength and courage to make the journey home.

“Who told you that?”

Patricia blanched. She swallowed hard, cocked her head toward the door. “In there,” she whispered.

Kane frowned, opened the office door and stepped inside. He was immediately confronted by a hulking man with snow white hair.

“Mister Kane, it is good to see you,” the man said in a thick German accent. His meaty paw engulfed Kane’s as they shook hands.

Kane was thoroughly befuddled. Who was this man and what was he doing in Kane’s office?

“I fear you have the advantage of me, Mister…”

“My name is Gerhard.”

“You’re with the Germans, obviously.”

“That is correct, but I also represent another group.” He flashed the sign of the All Seeing Eye. A Nazi and an Illuminatus.

“I fear I have only bad news for the men you represent,” Kane said. “Our mission was a complete failure. I was the only survivor.”

“You do not have to explain yourself to me, Mister Kane,” Gerhard said. “I am here to assist the new director of Kane Industries.”

“New director?” Kane’s head swam. “What in God’s name are you talking about?”

“Your loans were called due two weeks ago. All of them. Your businesses now belong to us.”

“This is intolerable! I nearly died for you people.”

“Your sacrifices are appreciated, which is why you are still alive. We believe you can still be useful. You will remain director, but as a figurehead only. You will now take orders from the actual director.”

Gerhard stepped aside. Someone was seated at Kane’s desk with their back to him. Anger surged through him. That was his desk, his chair, and his company!

“Who are you?” Kane demanded.

The chair slowly spun about. A beautiful blonde woman sat there. She wore a patch over her right eye. Her smile was a cold, disquieting thing.

“Magda!”

“Hello, John. Nice to see you again. Even if it is only with one eye.”

“I thought the Night Queen killed you.” Kane felt numb all over.

“But you didn’t wait around to find out, did you? You ran like a frightened little girl.”

The world spun. Kane staggered and dropped into the closest chair. “I’m sorry.”

“Yes, you are. A sorry excuse for a man.”

“What was I supposed to do? We were facing creatures out of hell.”

“I did not run.” Fischer pounded the desk with her fist. “I suppose that is what I get for putting so much stock in an American. You are all mongrels, your blood tainted by your ridiculous ‘melting pot’.”

Kane didn’t know what to say. He held his tongue until he could bear the silence no more. “What happened to your eye?” It was a foolish question, but he could think of nothing else to say.

“Brock Stone shot me.”

“Stone? He survived?”

“Him, Trinity Paige, his friend with the hook hand, the girl from the bureau, they were all there at the end. You would know that if you hadn’t run away.”

“I will end him,” Kane said. “I will take revenge on all of them.”

“Brock Stone is no longer your problem. You are now my faithful hound, and you will do as you are told. And we have more important matters to attend to.”

“I will do whatever I can to make it up to you,” Kane said.

“I know you will. And I promise, if you abandon me again, the consequences will be dire.” Fischer leaned forward and lifted her eye patch. Where her eye had been, a tiny black cloud roiled. “The Night Queen is not entirely dead.”

Kane slumped back in his chair, rendered speechless by what he had just seen. Fischer replaced her eye patch and sat back.

“Gerhard, fetch Mister Kane a cup of coffee. Two sugars and two creams.”

“That is how my mother takes it,” Gerhard said. He and Fischer exchanged amused glances. Kane’s face burned with shame. “Would you like your coffee in a mug, or something more delicate, like a teacup?”

“Leave it, Gerhard,” Fischer said. “He has the rest of his life to face up to his cowardice. And who knows, he might even reclaim his manhood.”

“Just tell me what it is you want from me,” Kane said through gritted teeth.

“I am working with a man called Heinrich Himmler,” Fischer said. We are heading up a new division of the Schutzstaffel. It is called the Ahnenerbe.””

David Wood is the USA Today bestselling author of the action-adventure series, The Dane Maddock Adventures, and many other works. He also writes fantasy under his David Debord pen name and science fiction as Finn Gray. He's a member of International Thriller Writers and the Horror Writers Association. David and his family live in Santa Fe, New Mexico. Visit him online at www.davidwoodweb.com and get a free reader's guide to the Dane Maddock universe and his other works.