THE GIZA CIPHER

SHANE RILEY ADVENTURES

BOOK 2

NICK THACKER

CHAPTER 1

SHANE

Shane Riley was conflicted. As he sat in the booth in the far back of the dimly lit pub, back to the wall facing the door—as always—he frowned. He stared down at his hands, resting on the table, a bottle of ginger beer in each hand.

He took the one on the left, took a swig, chewed it a bit, then swallowed. It was spicy, but perhaps too much bitterness. The aftertaste was pleasant but had a sort of yeasty unpleasantness to it.

His wife was dead. Unceremoniously dumped, car and all, into the ocean off the coast, not 20 miles from here. She'd been murdered, and he had taken a vow to find the vehicle and his wife's remains.

As an experienced diver, getting down there wouldn't be the problem. It was figuring out what to do once he was down there… once he had found it.

He took a swig of the bottle in his right hand. It had a sharpness to it, sweeter than the last but also without any of these tenets. It tasted fake, perhaps. As if it had been cooked up in a laboratory rather than made from fresh ingredients. Still, neither was a bad choice.

And then there was the issue of his wife's best friend, Michaela Everly. Beautiful, smart, and, judging by how she composed herself while with Shane in North Korea a month ago, capable of taking a beating and coming out the other side stronger for it.

Was he falling for her? Would he feel the same way if he hadn't had his wife brutally taken from him?

Two choices, two complex solutions. Going back to his wife obviously wasn't an option, but moving on from her?

He wasn't sure he was capable of that.

He'd told Michaela as much the last time they'd spoken, in a tea shop in Seoul, South Korea. She'd tearfully explained that she wanted more, wanted him. He'd done his best to pour his heart out as well—feats made even more difficult by the fact that Shane Riley wasn't the kind of person to show his emotions.

For a long time, he actually believed he didn't have emotions to show. That he truly was capable of tamping them down, brushing them under the rug. Only, unlike others, they wouldn't come bursting forth at a later date when you least expect it.

He lived his life like this—ignoring his emotions and eventually finding that they had gone away completely. This time had been different.

Maybe North Korea had broken him.

He grabbed the first bottle again just as Jason, the pub's owner and bartender, strode over. He looked the part—jeans, long-sleeved black buttoned shirt. He had a white towel slung over his left shoulder as if he were ready to wipe down any surface at any time with only a moment's notice. Shane wondered how many gunslinger-like standoffs there were between the bartender and a beer-splashed wall.

"Figure out which one's best?" Jason asked, his broad accent thick with a New South Wales flair and nearly impossible to understand. But Shane was Australian and had plenty of practice deciphering Jason's drawl.

He raised an eyebrow, flicked his head over toward the bartender, and offered a small smile. "They taste the same."

Jason scoffed. "Now I know you're bullshitting me, Riley."

Shane sighed. "How the hell are you supposed to decide between two options that both seem right?" This time it was Jason's turn to frown. "I mean… both make sense, right? I guess there's a bitterness to both, but one option seems like it should be sweeter. I think that's the one I'd want, but I can't figure out which one it is."

Jason strode over and closed the distance, the towel falling from his shoulder. He held it loosely, making small circles over the table on the far side of Shane. It was a habitual movement, the kind that told Shane Jason was about to lay a wisdom nugget on him.

Jason was only about five years older than Shane, but he knew all too well that the type of man who opens a bar and could be found inside 24/7 is the kind of man who’s ready to provide whatever sort of therapy — liquid or otherwise — is needed.

"We're not talking about the ginger beer, are we?" Jason asked.

There was a knowing smile on his face. Shane had known Jason almost as long as he had been in this corner of Australia. Jason's pub was not just Shane's local watering hole; it was the closest bar to his house. Shane usually visited after a dive or an excursion of any sort, or when he just needed to think.

Or to get out of his house.

His house wasn't much to look at. It was an upstairs shack fashioned from thin slivers of wood holding up a sheet metal roof that threatened to blow away with a big gust, the entire thing encased in screen material.

A freestanding hammock was Shane's bed, a tiny futon his dinner table and chair. It made sense that someone living there would spend most of their time outside their home.

"Were we ever?" Shane asked, glancing back up at Jason.

Jason laughed. "At first, yeah. I was hoping you wouldn't overthink this. Got two new ginger beers and I can only afford to stock one. I need to know which one Shane 'the Ginger King' Riley thinks.”

"Please don't call me that."

"Yeah, right. We can workshop that nickname a bit."

Shane pushed the bottle in his left hand forward. "This one, then. It's more yeasty or something, but tastes more natural. The other one has a weird mouthfeel to it, like drinking thin cough syrup."

Jason nodded, grabbing the bottle out of his hand and examining the label. "I think I would've gone that direction, too."

CHAPTER 2

CLIVE

The sun beat down on the back of his neck with a vengeance. Even though Clive Hewitt wore a wide-brimmed hat with a neck guard, the glowing orb above him seared right through it. He raised a dry, cracked hand and rubbed at the spot, already feeling it becoming raw.

He had aloe back at his truck, but he needed more sunscreen now. He felt around his cargo pants pockets, not finding the small tube he usually stashed in one of the pockets. He dropped the hand trowel he'd been holding and stood up straight, cracking his back and knees.

How the hell do archaeologists do this all day, every day? he wondered.

He was playing the role of an archaeologist today, against his will. He had been sent out here to go through the findings the actual archaeologists had uncovered yesterday.

The archaeologists and crew who were now dead.

His eyes scanned the 12' x 14' rectangular indentation in the earth, hard-packed sand and small pebbles piled 100 feet away. Ropes and strings staked across the hole measured the space, but it didn't take a trained archaeologist to know there was nothing here. At least nothing of value.

He shook his head in disgust, once again rubbing at the space he knew was going to be a problem this evening. He couldn’t wait to be done here for the day — perhaps he could make the argument that there was nothing here without actually investigating? He would do almost anything for a shower right now.

The job was simple. He was trying to find something that had been lost for a long time, something that might reveal the truth about the ancient Egyptians. The archaeologist and excavation crews that had been working here had toiled day and night to create this and 18 other holes in the earth dotting the dig site. Clive's interest had been piqued after reading through the initial report filed by the now-dead archaeology crew. Funded by a grant from the American University in Cairo, and sanctioned by the Ministry of Antiquities, the dig was legit and nothing controversial was expected to be found here, so the worksite hadn't raised any eyebrows.

But a single word had caught Clive's eye upon reading the report, a word that had thrust him into action and led him to heading out into the middle of this godforsaken desert.

Osiris.

If there was anything about Osiris to be found here, he wanted to know. He needed to know.

Much of the major sites in Egypt have been excavated well enough to know the basics of the stories of their creation. The pyramids and Sphinx at Giza, the tomb of King Tutankhamen, and other such monuments stood as gateways to the past, museums exalting the rulers who built them—and sometimes were buried inside them.

But to Clive, that only scratched the surface. It only hinted at the true nature of these sites. So many questions had gone unanswered since the Egyptian government had gotten the wild idea to begin controlling information related to the proliferation of antiques and historical records.

They wanted to perpetuate the idea that Egyptology could only be pursued by Egyptians — a misguided, if noble, concept.

It gave nearly unlimited power to the Egyptian government to control the narrative as to the nature of ancient sites, as well as anything anyone find inside them. To Clive and the group he co-led, it was an egregious overstepping of authority, effectively a censorship of ideas not already accepted by the mainstream Egyptological community.

He believed the Egyptian government was oppressing and withholding information, not interested in exalting Egyptian scholars. He believed they were covering up major revelations that might not fit into the accepted narrative, claiming the discoverers were either delusional, ignorant, or both.

Clive cursed under his breath and stood up. Enough of this, he thought. I can tell there’s nothing here.

That Osiris was mentioned was no surprise — the god of the afterlife and underworld, Osiris was often invoked during the building of worship sites, including pyramids. Frankly it would be surprising if there were no mention of the ancient god at an Egyptian site, so the fact that the archaeologist’s grant mentioned Osiris was not a complete surprise.

The surprise had actually something entirely different — that this site was even being looked at as a potential dig site. He spun a slow circle, not understanding.

There’s absolutely nothing here, he realized.

No pyramid, no Sphinx, no buildings of any kind. Sure, it was possible the structure they were all here to find was still buried underground, but there was no way to know that. In every direction he just saw dust and sand, ripping heat waves stretching upward along the horizon.

He’d already checked the dead archaeology crew’s notes. Nothing there, either. Just mundane, boring accounts of digging holes in the dirt and sand. No mention of Osiris, other than the line that had first caught his attention — written in the email sent to the journalist covering the dig.

…Could point to signs of Osiris’ real-life counterpart…

That was why he was here. To prove that Osiris was a real, living, breathing human being. To prove that Osiris was not just a mythological man-creature, invented as a form of ritualistic worship and to give explanation to questions of the afterlife.

He wanted to find that proof.

He wanted to find Osiris.

CHAPTER 3

JACK

"You've done a fantastic job explaining your position, Professor," the older man in the front row said. His voice belied an intention Professor Jack Lindstrom didn't appreciate. “Exactly how would you define the term… pseudoscience?"

There were a few chuckles throughout the auditorium.

Lindstrom sighed. It always came down to this. No matter how thorough his research, no matter how well articulated his opinion, someone always made a crack implying he was no more than some quack dealing in pseudoscience, positing facts easily dismissible by more important facts.

And this question wasn’t even well-crafted.

But Dr. Jack Swain was no stranger to the academic speaking circuit – he had 30 years' experience, after all – and because he was never one to shy away from confrontation, arguably the reason he was in this position to begin with, he could handle these situations with grace and aplomb.

Or at least by poking a little fun at the man who’d asked the question.

"I suspect I define pseudoscience much like you do," he said, "Mr.…" he let his voice trail off. He knew exactly who the man was, and he knew he was no lowly ‘mister.’

Dr. Flanders Fielders, one of the most unfortunately named men in academia, had a bone to pick with anyone who didn't agree explicitly with his own opinions. Students, peers, and professional historians and archaeologists alike.

Everyone, essentially.

But Dr. Flanders Fielders certainly did think quite highly of himself and his own opinions.

Fielders shifted in his seat, visibly uncomfortable and unprepared for the slight. "It's… Dr. Flanders — I thought we –"

“Ah, yes, Dr. Fielders," Swain said, squinting and putting a hand over his forehead as if he hadn't seen the man because of the bright auditorium lights shining on him. In truth, he could see him quite clearly, and had known to expect a question like this from him. It was intended to throw him off, to get him to look as uncomfortable as Fielders likely now felt, but more importantly, to make Fielders feel good about himself amidst peers in the audience.

"While I'd be happy to discuss your thoughts on pseudoscience at another time, I would much prefer to keep the focus on the matter at hand, as I want to ensure we have enough time for questions from those in the audience interested in these theories, their implications, and not matters related to your professional interests.” Fielders opened his mouth and Swain expected another insult tossed his way, but he closed it quickly instead.

Jack already saw a short line forming behind the mic stand in both aisles. He offered a hand to the young woman standing first on his left. "What is your question, young lady?"

"Jessica Parks, archaeology undergrad. I'm fascinated by your research and theories, and I feel like you do put together compelling evidence.” She tossed a look at the back of Fielders’ head, much to Swain’s amusement, and then continued. “Today was no exception – thank you so much for your presentation — but one thing I would love to hear, and I doubt I'm alone in this, is what potential rebuttals you think could invalidate your theory of the Orion connection."

Jack’s eyebrows rose. Academics like Fielders' assumed that anything out of Professor Swain’s mouth was preposterous and nothing short of pseudoscience, but the younger undergraduate population often treated his theories exactly the way he intended — as interesting ideas worth more than a cursory glance.

The coed half of the student body often gave him a bit of extra attention, as well. He didn't want it, but he knew how he looked, especially compared to the stereotypical stuffy professor. Thick and medium-length salt-and-pepper hair, rectangular glasses perched on a longish, sloping nose, and wrinkles that only seemed to make his eyes twinkle when he got passionate about a subject.

Individually, these weren't features he would've guessed handsome or desirable, but together they apparently had the effect of making him look like some sort of academic George Clooney, somehow getting better with age.

He was also fit, tall, and had a deep, clear voice, all additional physical characteristics that made certain nerdy types swoon. He had to admit the attention felt nice, but knowing he was sometimes twice their age turned him off a bit. He wasn't married, so there was no moral hang-up as to why he couldn't participate in the university's dating game a bit, but relationships were certainly frowned upon where mixing students and teachers was concerned.

And while he detected a bit of that sort of swooning in the young woman standing in front of him, the question still took him by surprise. It wasn't just a babbling of incoherent words she forgot to think through just so she could get some face time with him, it was a question he had actually asked himself many times over.

CHAPTER 4

JACK

"I absolutely love this question," he said, her eyes lighting up. "First, I appreciate the eloquence with which you phrased it. I didn't feel the implication of an attack or hostility, which is sometimes the first reaction people have to me."

He glanced down at Fielders while a few more chuckles danced through the room. "Truth be told, every theory should be tested against questions like this. True rebuttals should be based on just as much logic, rational thinking, and hard questions that went into developing the theory in the first place. I have a few, which I will try to articulate quickly.

"First, the idea that the three stars of Orion – which, if you'll recall, are not just three stars but rather star clusters – appear to have the same configuration as the three pyramids on the Giza Plateau. Surely, superimposing a horizontally inverted star map over the layout at Giza confirms this. But the main rebuttal I've heard – and can't help but feel is an important one to consider – is the idea of imprecise measurements."

He looked around to ensure everyone was still with him before continuing. "As you may know, superimposing a star map onto Earth in this way is not easy. As such, most astrologists agree that the three stars of Orion do not perfectly line up with the three pyramids at Giza. It's close – close enough for conspiracy theorists to latch onto as proof – but it's not perfect enough for those of us seeking scientific truth."

“And do you have evidence against this rebuttal?" the young woman asked.

He nodded, clearing his throat. “I do. Nothing publishable yet, but I have a few working theories that I believe make a lot of sense. First, it seems to me we need to be using accurate constellation coordinates rather than photographs. Depending on lens aberrations, positioning on Earth, that sort of thing, these measurements could be imprecise because the actual equipment being used to observe them is causing imprecision. Furthermore, unless these constellation maps were created from the exact point at which they would be seen from above the pyramids at the same time of year, this could throw some distortion into the mix. Admittedly an almost imperceptible amount, but noticeable nonetheless."

The questioner was nodding along as if she understood this line of reasoning and was in agreement. "But there's another theory that I believe explains perfectly why the Orion constellation might be slightly off from the layout down below."

The young woman leaned into the mic. "Because the observers didn't use equipment," she said excitedly. "Those who built the pyramids were looking up at the night sky much like we do, with the naked eye. And then trying to transpose it and expand it into the largest monuments ever built at the time, imperfections would no doubt be introduced."

There were a few murmurs, and though Jack couldn't hear the details, he assumed they were from professors and graduate students surprised by this young woman's tenacity and depth of knowledge about this theory. He smiled warmly, but also wondered why he didn’t recognize her. He mostly taught graduate-level classes, but the archaeology department wasn’t large — he surely should have seen her around before.

And he certainly would have remembered her.

"That is a popular rebuttal to the question of imperfections in the Orion theory," he said. "But, that is not the one I was going to offer. We have to remember we are talking about a theory that requires the ancient builders to have been exceptionally gifted in astronomy and mathematics, and obviously architecture and geography. We cannot therefore dismiss this imperfection as human error – or the whole theory would crumble from the beginning."

She nodded along, frowning, as if frustrated that she had come to this conclusion herself.

"I believe the answer is far more simple."

He looked around again, sensing a shift in the room. Though he had presented his talk well, and knew he would have plenty of follow-up questions later that evening, most of the people here were likely trying to receive credit for one assignment or another, or, like Fielders, just interested in ways to poke holes in his work.

But he had them now. They all wanted to know what it was he believed about this topic.

He leaned over the lectern, allowing what he called his ‘professor voice’ to shine. "I believe the answer is much simpler… because I am a fan of simple solutions. We all know the simplest answer is likely the correct one, as that has been proven true in so many areas of knowledge. Our line of work is no different, and the simplest theories often end up standing the test of time. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is my theory."

He saw a few looks of confusion. He smiled again. "Time. That's the simple answer. We are all looking up at the night sky today, not 2,000, 3,000, or more years ago. Egyptologists believe the pyramids were built around 2,500 BCE – that's 5,000 years for the constellations above us to move and shift. Astral projection programs that track stars and galaxies and celestial bodies can accurately show us what the sky looked like at this time.

"As you may know, these astral projections from 2,500 BCE, give or take 1,000 years, show the same imperfection in the alignment of Orion over the Giza Plateau. Thus, the imperfection has been perpetuated by many of us in this room, pointing to it as a reason why my theory cannot be true. But what if we're still looking in the wrong time? What if we're still trying to pinpoint an exact configuration match of Orion with the Giza pyramids on a geologic timescale that is wholly… wrong?"

He felt the air sucked out of the room. There were no audible gasps, but this was quickly leaning into territory he had often been accused of treading into. Territory he loved. It seemed the young woman who asked the question loved it as well. She too was leaning over the mic stand, staring up at him.

"To put it simply, I believe the pyramids were built 2,500 years ago. But I believe they were built to point to a specific time period that’s far older. I'm working on a way to prove it, and while I'm not ready to present the full theory, I'm quite confident these findings will prove to be true."

A few older professors he recognized got up and began walking toward the exit. Internally, he laughed. This is how it always happens. Theories so scary to someone's convictions they can't even stand to hear them. Two students who had been standing in line behind the young woman turned around and found their seats once more. Perhaps he had scared them off, as well. Perhaps they would get their grades docked if they asked him a question tonight.

He did want to get through more of the questions, and he hadn't finished answering the one she'd asked, so he leaned forward once more, standing fully upright, and delivered his basic premise. "I believe the pyramids were built to point to a period of time: 10,500 years ago.”

CHAPTER 5

SHANE

Shane pushed the two empty bottles of ginger beer to the side and prepared to stand up. He was tired, the aches and pops in his joints not just leftovers from his run earlier that day but the telltale signs of the forward march of time, the one enemy impossible to defeat.

As he left the booth, he saw a flash of movement across the pub out on its front sidewalk. The flash disappeared, but a moment later the pub's door opened, the clinging sound of Jason's bell alerting him and the bartender. No one else was inside, and Shane sat back down and watched the entrance.

A man entered, young, maybe 30 years old. Shane had just turned 40, but he remembered all too well when he thought 30 was old. That ship had sailed and was long gone—just like his youthful fitness coming easily. He examined the young man as the door swung closed behind him. He was in motion, heading straight to the back of the bar.

Straight to him.

Shane frowned, noticing the frantic look on the man's face. He was obviously in a hurry, and seemed dead set on plowing straight through Shane and his table. Shane flicked a glance to the right—Jason wasn't behind the bar anymore, busying himself with some chore either in the tiny kitchen or the even smaller office beyond.

The young man had dark skin, darker eyes that he could barely make out from the shadow of his brow, which was furrowed downward as he marched toward Shane. He looked Middle Eastern, maybe Turkish or Egyptian.

"Mr. Riley?" The young man asked. Shane's frown turned to a scowl. He didn't like being recognized in public, certainly not after a frantic entrance into a bar where he was trying to relax and enjoy a ginger beer. "Shane Riley," the man repeated.

It wasn't a question this time, and before Shane could protest, the man dove into the booth seat in front of him, across the table. His hand narrowly missed taking out the two empty ginger beer bottles.

The kid was breathless, his eyes barely taking in Shane as they darted back and forth, never landing for longer than a second on anything. "Who the hell are you?" Shane asked. He tried to make his voice sound gruff, firm. How did Jack Reacher always seem so cool and collected? he wondered.

He flexed his shoulders and traps, trying to look bigger. He knew he didn't need to intimidate this guy—if the kid was looking for a fight, he would have opened with a punch and not run in here like he was late for a date. Besides, he didn't look the fighting type. He was all bones, a skeleton draped in skin, his hands as wiry as the arms that held them. His neck seemed elongated, too, as if he had been stretched out as a baby and left like that to grow into his weird shape.

Shane was being harsh—the guy wasn't that odd-looking—but he was a little perturbed this guy knew who he was, exactly where to find him, and it seemed to be quite interested in tracking him down.

"I need your help," the young man said quickly. His voice lowered to a mere whisper now, and Shane frowned again, wondering who he thought was in here with them. Did he not want Jason to hear their conversation? Shane knew all too well the rumor mill a place like this could be—it was a watering hole for everyone in the neighborhood, including one of the fraternity houses situated just past the end of the block. Jason didn't get a ton of college-aged traffic in here, but every now and then a few groups of coeds, frat boys, and their flavors of the week would stumble in to order disgusting looking fruity shots.

Jason had confided in him before that if he could be paid in information, if information could be used as currency, Jason would never have to charge for food or drinks. He heard every manner of rumor, gossip, and news topic under the sun while standing behind the bar or serving one of the booths along the wall.

"I'm not going to ask you again," Shane said.

"Right, sorry Mr. Riley. I am⁠—"

"You can call me Shane, but only for as long as this conversation takes place. Which I'm hoping won't be more than 30 seconds."

The young man looked scared momentarily, then his face softened a bit. Shane saw how youthful he looked then and reassessed. He must not be a day over 20, he realized. His clothing and intense expression when he entered lent credibility to Shane's previous theory that he was about 30 years old. His long sleeve, button-down plaid shirt tucked into black jeans with a belt made him look like a college professor, casually dressed.

"My name is Isaiah Howe," he continued. "And I do need your help."

"Name’s not good enough, son," Shane said. He winced. Since when do I start calling other guys son? "I don't know what this has to do with Shane Riley."

"I'm an archaeologist," the young man said quickly. "I was a graduate student at one point at Boston University. But I'm from Cairo originally. And I was told you are the person to ask… to help find things."

Again, it was a statement, not a question. "And who told you that?" Shane asked.

The young man swallowed. "She—I don't actually know anything about her. Her name is Natia, and she reached out to me."

Shane chewed his lip. He still wasn't sure why this young man wanted his help, but his story seemed credible so far. Natia was an old… acquaintance. Certainly not a friend, and certainly not someone he never thought he'd be entangled with. About a year ago, he’d been in Switzerland at a fancy hotel that hugged a cliff. He had been there to put out his shingle in a new line of work he called ‘Retrieval Expert.’ After his career as an Australian special forces officer, Shane Riley had decided to slow things down, get married, maybe even try to have a normal life.

But it didn't stick — at least not the ‘normal life’ part.

After the death of his wife and the unceremonious dumping of her body off the coast of the town he now lived in, he'd decided to find her.

And in so doing, he’d decided to find items of value others deemed important. Rare works of art that had gone missing, expensive jewelry that had been stolen, that sort of thing. He hadn't even known where to start, and a few searches on internet forums had only led to him realizing there was no way he was going to find clients on internet forums.

So he’d booked a flight to Switzerland, bought a room at a hotel hosting a rare art auction, hoping to at least get some leads and connect with wealthy people who might have a need for his skill set. Of course, aside from his military career, he didn't have that skill set.

He’d arrived in Switzerland brand-new to the game, a wet-behind-the-ears recruit to the world of billionaire espionage. He had hardly checked in before Natia had come storming in, guns blazing.

She hadn't been shooting at him, but he was quickly thrust into the fight.

They'd barely escaped with their lives then, and he hadn't heard from her since.

"Natia," he repeated.

The young man nodded.

"You said she reached out to you?"

The kid — Isaiah — nodded again. “I’d never heard of her before. Why would I? I'm just a grad student. But she thought I might be able to help find something of great value. She recommended I reach out to you for help."

"I see," Shane said. "And what is this thing so valuable to Natia?"

This time, the young man shook his head. "No, you misunderstand. Not something valuable to her… She reached out because she knew it would be valuable to me. It's something historically profound, especially for someone of my background. Being from Cairo, and all."

He waited.

Isaiah shifted, his eyes darting back and forth.

Suddenly, Shane understood. For Isaiah, it wasn’t about the thing Shane was supposed to find — the thing Natia wanted so badly. For him, it was personal.

Shane's scowl returned. He still didn't understand the connection between Natia and this college kid, but the guy was definitely in a hurry. He was still frantically looking around, even turning his head to peer at the door behind him.

He’s afraid.

Exactly why Natia wanted this young man to find whatever it was of interest to them was a question Shane could answer later. Right now, he needed to know why the kid was so frantic.

"What are you running from?" Shane asked.

Before the young man could answer, the window and doorway of Jason's pub exploded, a dozen rounds of hot lead blasting through both.

CHAPTER 6

SHANE

Shane leapt sideways, pulling the table with him. Jason had installed heavy wooden tables with enormous metal bases for each of the booths alongside the pub's sidewall. It was unwieldy and didn't want to topple over—they had been designed to stand upright, obviously. But Shane yanked on it again and finally got the heavy 4-inch thick tabletop to roll sideways as more rounds peppered the back wall.

The table hit the floor hard just as Jason emerged from the back room.

"Get back inside!" Shane shouted. He didn't have a chance to see if Jason heeded his advice or not. Now the table was on the floor, he grabbed the metal base and swiveled around so the whole thing faced the front door of the pub.

He yanked Isaiah's arm and threw him to the floor, ducking behind the table himself.

They sat with the central metal stand between them, the tabletop angled against their backs. The gunfire died down, and they heard the bell jingle as the broken door swiveled inward.

"I'm gonna go out on a limb and assume these are the guys you're running from?" Shane whispered.

He saw the kid nod next to him.

"Want to give me a little heads up next time? Like, 'Hey, there are gunmen chasing me. Don't have much time to chat, Mr. Riley.'"

The kid swallowed a lump, and Shane could see he was shaking. "I—I didn't…"

“Forget about it," Shane said. "Really not the most pressing issue right now."

Shane risked a glance over his shoulder, above the top of the table. A large Middle Eastern man was entering the pub, crunching over detritus pieces of glass and wood. His head was on a swivel, obviously looking for anyone inside. He didn't know Shane had been the only patron before Isaiah rushed in, but the bar wasn't large.

He would discover that fact in a few seconds at which point he would start shooting through their table. And while it was offering decent cover now, it wouldn't last. Unarmed, Shane could only sit and wait for the big dude to run in with his submachine gun and toss an arm over the edge of the upended table and land a few bullets into the tops of their craniums.

Gotta be a better option, he thought. "Isaiah, I need you to stay here."

"What? I⁠—"

"Stay. Here.” Shane hissed. Without waiting for a response, Shane darted out from behind the table and launched himself over the bar a few feet away. As expected, the big dude began firing almost immediately, but Shane was stretched out, halfway over the bar top by the time the first bullet impacted the wall behind him.

It was far from a swan dive, and far from graceful. Shane crashed into the refrigerator unit nestled in the corner behind the bar, smashing glass and bottles inside. Cans of beer fizzed and exploded, coating Shane's face in frothy liquid. He felt a few cuts from the glass, but nothing substantial.

He landed in a heap in front of the refrigerator, noticing how sticky the dark red tile floor was on this side of the bar. Christ, Jason, run a mop through here every once in a while.

He pulled himself up as the gunfire ceased momentarily. Hopefully, the big man was focused on Shane now, not Isaiah still hiding behind the table. The guy wouldn't know Isaiah was there, but he would surely know Isaiah had rushed into the restaurant. Shane looked around, hoping for a weapon.

He found a gun.

Unfortunately, it was a soda gun. Shane let out a breath, rolling his eyes, but he grabbed the handle of the soda gun and pulled it off its holster.

Don't bring a soda gun to a… gunfight?

As expected, the large Middle Eastern attacker wheeled around the side of the bar near the front of the pub and came into full view. Shane was ready—as ready as one could be while wielding a liquid squirt device. Thankfully, Jason kept the gun jacked up to its highest setting to allow for more pressure, and the liquid made it all the way across the 12 feet of space…

Directly into the man's face.

He stumbled backward, involuntarily wiping at his face with his free hand. His gun hand fell to the side, still clutching the small weapon. Shane's barrage wasn't over yet. While the man was wiping his face, Shane launched three missiles at him.

Well… soda cans. But Shane liked to pretend—it kept him sane.

One of the cans missed wide, but the other two struck the guy directly in his nose and forehead, eliciting a sharp cry of pain. But he was still big, and still very much alive.

And he was now very pissed.

Shane ran forward again, grabbing another object he hoped would act as a makeshift weapon. A cutting board. In an ironic twist of fate, the cutting board had limes cut on top of it but not an actual knife.

He shook his head, suddenly cursing Jason for being so safe and well-organized.

Blood was pouring from the man's nose now, but he'd realized Shane was not going down without a fight. And his own weapon was coming back up now. Shane launched the rectangular cutting board through the air like a frisbee, the thick plastic heavy enough to give it a good amount of lift and keep it relatively straight.

It was another direct hit, catching the man in the throat. He'd thrown the thing as hard as possible, hoping it would at least distract him enough for Shane to close the distance and take his gun out of the fight.

Apparently, that wouldn't be necessary. The man dropped the gun completely, then choked, grasping at his neck as he stumbled backwards.

Shane rushed in, ending the fight with a perfect tackle. Shane landed on top of the guy, for once thankful he was so big and relatively squishy—it wasn't exactly comfortable, but he had landed on the soft part of the guy's belly, cushioning his fall. The attacker didn't fare so well, however. As Shane extricated himself from the man's gut, he noticed he had hit his head hard on the way down and was now out cold.

Just then, Jason emerged from the back office once more, this time holding a pistol. “Need any help?" he asked Shane.

CHAPTER 7

JACK

Jack finished his presentation and stepped off the dais. Almost immediately, his TA, an over-eager young man named Pavelsky or something similar, handed him a glass of wine.

He had been told there was a reception to immediately follow his presentation, set up by the university as a way to entice anyone visiting from the wealthy class a chance to be assuaged into donating money to the school. Jack took the wine glass, thanked the young man, then proceeded down the stairs at the back of the stage.

Pavelsky was peppering him with questions, but Jack ignored all of them, trying to keep his eyes focused on the crowd which had begun dispersing and collecting into smaller globs of people heading for the exits of the auditorium. He thought he saw the young woman who had asked him questions, but wasn't sure. He picked up speed as he crossed alongside the side of the auditorium, the gently sloping uphill walk feeling good on his leg muscles, which he hadn't had a chance to work out in the last few days.

A group of three people, two professors and someone he thought was a graduate student, tried cornering him, but he waved them forward. "Let's chat out there, if you don't mind," he said, not slowing. "I've got a glass of wine, but I could really use a bottle of water."

The trio chuckled and allowed him to pass. He picked up his pace again, briskly walking toward the doors at the back. He spilled out, immediately fighting his way through a cacophony of well-dressed university staff and guests.

While his talk was the cap on the evening, there had been two opening acts — talks from visiting professors whom he held in high esteem and were trying to break onto the book circuit with their new releases. Both talks had gone over well, and he could tell by the crowd both in the auditorium and out here that they had likely pulled in more of a crowd than he.

He watched as a woman across the foyer darted out the side doors that led to the quad. He thought it might be the young woman who had asked him the questions, so he drifted that direction. Someone else grabbed his arm and he spun around, seeing a smiling older woman preparing to launch into what he knew would be a long-winded question phrased as a story she just had to get out.

Before she could, he held up a finger and repeated his mantra of finding a bottle of water. She nodded politely and let him go, and he continued toward the door.

There was a bar off to the right, a sort of makeshift thing the university set up for occasions like this. Not exactly sanctioned for the student body, but not completely unrelated to university business, either. The two bartenders behind the bar already had a small crowd gathering in front of them.

He saw the woman leave. Blonde hair the same length as the woman who had asked him the question.

But he also knew it wasn’t her.

He was surprised to feel disappointment. He wasn't sure exactly what he expected; he knew she was far too young to entertain anything like a relationship.

Not that he was looking.

But she was intriguing, certainly attractive, but in an intellectual sort of way. She had known every nuance of his talk, as if she had been the one to write it. He wanted to know more, to find out who she was studying with and what her plans were.

Pavelski wasn't a bad TA, but he was sure he could accomplish so much more with someone like her by his side. He swallowed in anticipation, once again feeling surprised at how the younger woman made him feel.

He was about to stop near the doors leading outside when someone else grabbed his elbow, harder this time. It was a firm grip, and he spun around ready to once again deliver his water bottle speech when his eyes widened.

It’s her.

She released him, as if apologetic and not knowing how tightly she had been gripping him, but quickly a smile grew on her face.

"Professor Swain,” she began. "You didn’t finish answering my question."

He frowned at first, still surprised she had sought him out and somehow remained completely unnoticed by him until then. But then he found his voice. "Right, uh… I only got to the first part of your question," he said.

She nodded. "I'd love to know more, perhaps over… another question, considering you’re all full on drinks?” she asked, pointing at his wine glass.

He half considered dropping it on the floor right there and taking her to the bar himself, but instead he held it together and chuckled. “Actually, my TA thinks I like red wine. I haven't even taken a sip yet."

"You don't like red wine?" she asked.

He cocked his head to the side, as if thinking for a moment. "It's not that I don’t…” He reset. “What do you drink?" he asked.

She answered immediately. "This may come as a shock, but I'm a fan of scotch myself," she said with a slight twinkle in her eye, causing him to feel the butterfly sensation once more.

Stop it, old man. You're probably 30 years older than her.

Nevertheless, he felt his hand slide down to the small of her back and gently press her forward, guiding her toward the bar.

"In that case, first round's on me," Jack said.

CHAPTER 8

SHANE

"At least help me with the mess," Shane said.

Jason stepped over spilled beer, broken refrigerator glass, and other utensils and items that had fallen off during Shane's frenzied attack. He wasn't exactly surprised to see Jason had a pistol—he was the kind of man who would want to be protected.

But it was peculiar to see it in the hands of a civilian in Australia. The country didn't seem to like firearms much, and a culture had been created where acquiring and using firearms was far outside the norm.

Jason stashed the pistol beneath the bar counter, in a drawer as he walked past. He stopped next to Shane, looking down at the large pillow-like man passed out on his floor.

"You mean dump the body?" Jason asked.

Shane looked at his bartender friend as if he were insane. "Dump the… what? No, we're not criminals. Wait, have you done this before?"

Jason's eyes widened a bit. "No! Of course not. I just meant—we can't leave him here, can we?"

Shane rolled his eyes. "Whoever sent him is going to send more guys just like him. They only sent one because they didn't think the kid would be able to put up a fight."

Shane glanced over to the back of the bar, seeing that same kid only just now crawling out from behind the upturned table. His eyes seemed bloodshot, as if he had just been crying or was still jacked up on some sort of drug. The kid's disheveled appearance and frantic demeanor were in stark contrast to the calm, dimly lit atmosphere of the pub. It was clear he had been through something intense and terrifying, and his body language screamed desperation.

"You okay?" Shane asked, his voice softer this time. The kid looked down at his body, as if examining it for bullet holes. Finally, he nodded. Shane noticed the slight tremor in the kid's hands and the way his chest heaved with each breath. It was clear that he was barely holding it together.

"I have questions," Shane snapped, his tone regaining its edge.

The kid nodded again, more vigorously this time. "Of course. But can we… go somewhere else?”

"There are more like him, aren't there?" Jason began brushing broken glass and bits of his front window back to the front of the store with his foot.

Shane moved closer to Isaiah, his eyes narrowing as he tried to piece together what was going on. “Most likely,” he said. The bar was quiet except for the crunch of glass underfoot and the distant hum of traffic outside. He turned to address Isaiah. “Where can we go where you're safe? Where they won’t find you?” Shane asked, his voice low and urgent.

Isaiah stood still for a moment, thinking it over. His eyes darted around the room, looking for an answer that wasn't there. Shane wasn't about to offer his own flat—the last thing he needed was for whoever these guys were to know who Isaiah was working with and where they could find him at any hour of the night.

But he wasn't surprised when the young man's brain turned up empty-handed.

Shane shook his head slowly, squinting. "Fine. Guess I'll have to do this myself."

Shane turned and started walking out the front of the bar, crunching over the same debris Jason was sweeping around with his foot. The cold night air hit him as he pushed open the door, and he took a deep breath, trying to clear his mind and focus on the task at hand.

"I'll come back to help," Shane said over his shoulder. "You have my word."

Jason looked up from his sweeping and nodded. "Don't worry about it, I've got insurance.” He paused. “What about him, though?" Jason's eyes flicked down toward the giant Middle Eastern man sleeping on his floor. The man looked peaceful now, but Shane knew it wouldn't last.

"Cops will be here before he wakes up," Shane said. “If not, just leave when he starts stirring. You get away, and let him deal with the consequences."

Jason nodded, and Shane turned to face the kid. "You coming or not? You said you needed my help, right?"

Isaiah swallowed and, with his wide, frantic eyes, nodded and followed Shane out of the pub. As they walked down the darkened street, Shane kept glancing over at the kid. Isaiah's pace was quick, almost frantic, and he kept looking over his shoulder as if expecting someone to jump out at them at any moment.

"Who were those guys?" Shane asked, trying to get a better understanding of the situation. “And why are they after you?"

Isaiah hesitated, his eyes darting nervously around. "They're... they're part of some group. I think. I don’t really know. I was just doing some research, and I guess I found something I wasn't supposed to. Something they didn’t want me to find.”

Shane raised an eyebrow. "Research? What kind of research?"

"Archaeological," Isaiah replied, his voice barely above a whisper. "I found something that could change everything we know about ancient civilizations. They want it, and they'll do anything to get it. At least, that’s my guess, anyway.”

Shane frowned. This was getting more complicated by the minute. "And you think I can help you with this?"

Isaiah nodded. "Natia said you were the best. She said if anyone could help me, it would be you."

Shane sighed. He didn't know how he had gotten roped into this, but there was — apparently — no turning back now, unless he wanted to go toe-to-toe with a grizzly-sized Middle Eastern guy hopped up on rage and adrenaline.

And he did not.

"Alright, let's find somewhere safe to talk. Then you can tell me everything."

They walked in silence for a few more minutes, the tension between them palpable. Shane's mind raced as he tried to come up with a plan. He couldn’t just run away, leave the kid stranded on the sidewalk. He didn't know what he was getting himself into, but one thing was clear: Isaiah was in danger, and Shane needed to act fast if he wanted to help him.

But did he?

CHAPTER 9

JACK

The only scotch option the bartender had was one that made Jack feel as though he were drinking from an ashtray — and it was priced exorbitantly — so they settled on a bourbon. Not at all the same thing, but at least it was in the same general family of libation, and his new young acquaintance didn't seem to mind.

In fact, he noticed she was hardly sipping the drink, instead taking up a spot against the wall and standing to face him and the crowd outside the auditorium.

But it was a good bourbon, for his part, he had no qualms about taking a sip.

"Before I answer your question, may I get your name?" he asked.

"Cynthia," she said. "Cynthia Venatucci."

She didn't look Italian, but now that he considered it, she didn't look like… anything. Or rather, she looked almost generic. Beautiful, sure, but of no particular nationality he could spot. Her blonde hair seemed too bright for her dark skin. She wore makeup, but it was subtle and natural, revealing her true beauty.

"Miss Venatucci," Jack continued. "I must apologize, I was bombarded with questions after yours. Can you remind me what your query was?"

She giggled. “Well, I was being a bit coy in there. I’d rather just cut to the chase. I loved your talk, and I've read your work. I know you're working on a new book, one that you've said everyone is dying to know about."

Jack raised an eyebrow, now even more intrigued. He took a long sip of bourbon before asking, "Have I said that?"

For a moment, Cynthia appeared caught off guard, but recovered quickly. "I only mean by hearing what your new book will be about, one could infer that you've also discovered the locations.”

Jack nearly spit out his drink. He knew for a fact he hadn't told anyone this part of the theory: that the constellation Orion, represented by the god of the underworld in ancient Egypt, promised a tantalizing secret.

"Actually, I don't recall mentioning that to anyone," he said.

Cynthia paused. "But that is your theory, yes?"

Jack looked around, suddenly feeling as though he were being watched. He lowered his voice. "Yes, it is. But how can you —“

"Your work was stolen last month, Dr. Swain."

He tried not to sound shocked. "My work was... what was stolen?”

Was he going crazy? Had his office been broken into or his home? Had he completely forgotten about a burglary attempt?

Or was this woman off her rocker?

"You uploaded a version of your manuscript to your publishing editor, correct? Sent it through a secure form," Cynthia explained.

Jack's mind raced, trying to recall the events she was referring to. "Yes, of course I did. The same thing I've done in the past. My editor works with a publisher, and they have an online form they like us to use for submissions, manuscript checks, editing rounds. That sort of thing. I remember now. But the forms were secure. I have no reason to suspect there was any theft.”

“I assure you, your work was intercepted, Professor.”

“By whom?”

She didn’t answer, instead looking around the groups of people behind him, then finally taking a sip of her bourbon.

He suddenly felt the effects of too much water and too much time without visiting a restroom. As much as Jack wanted to stay and talk to the beautiful young woman who seemed to know every detail of his research, nature had other plans.

He asked her to hold both drinks for a moment, but instructed her not to go anywhere. She offered another cute giggle and said she wouldn't think of it.

As he walked to the bathroom, he wondered what he was getting himself into. Was he really going to was did he really think she was interested in him? Did it really matter, considering the age difference?

Sure, they were both adults. She was a student… maybe? He actually hadn't asked.

But she had to be – her youthful face and giggling gave it away.

Yet there was also a depth to her, her eyes not just twinkling with delight as they discussed scotch and bourbon and his work and the talk, but also a hint of worldly experience.

Who was he to judge?

The restrooms were on the opposite side of the foyer, and he noticed a group of four Middle Eastern men, dressed well, chatting amongst themselves nearby. As he approached the men's restroom door, two of them broke away and entered in front of him. One held the door open for him, and he thanked him as he passed.

He relieved himself, then drifted toward the sink to wash his hands.

He realized then that he hadn't heard either of the men after entering. He guessed they were each in a stall farther back in the restroom, but thought it strange he hadn't heard a single hint of noise.

Nevertheless, he turned the water on and began washing his hands.

CHAPTER 10

SHANE

Shane turned to the left and headed toward his flat, knowing there was an intersection with a road that would take them to a small café down the street.

Like the pub, it was a place Shane frequented. While he didn't like the idea of having these crazed Middle Eastern guys terrorizing his hometown and potentially shooting up his favorite spots, he really didn't have a lot of options. Most of the places were closed, he didn't want to go back to his house, and he didn't want to deal with the police that were likely arriving at Jason's pub any minute now. He was sure the sounds of gunshots—not to mention the obviously blasted-out front window and door of Jason's place—would not have gone unnoticed in the sleepy Australian beach town.

Frankly, he was surprised he hadn't already heard sirens.

"Talk and walk," he said.

"I don't know who he was," came Isaiah's reply. "But they are after the same thing I'm trying to find."

"Some valuable artifact? The thing Natia told you to find?"

"Yes. I don't know exactly what it is yet, but she told me it was worth… a lot. She said to find you, that you were the person who could help retrieve things like this."

Shane chewed his lip again as they walked toward the café. "Natia doesn't seem like the kind of person to just throw a bone. What's in it for her?"

"She can sell it, I guess,” Isaiah said. "She says there's a black market that deals with this sort of stuff and can get the best price for it."

Shane looked up at the late evening sky, stars already pricking the darkness. What have I gotten myself into? He wondered. He didn't tell the kid he was being naïve—no one naïve was ever helped by someone informing them so. "What makes you think you can trust her?" he said instead.

Isaiah turned and looked at Shane as they walked. "I didn't… I didn't think to ask."

Shane actually laughed aloud at this. "You didn't think to — wow, you are naïve. Look, Natia is an assassin. A trained hitman — or hit-woman. She doesn't have an interest in some dumb old artifact any more than I've got an interest in the Pope's toilet paper."

"What if she does?" Isaiah asked quickly. "What if she was telling the truth? That this artifact is worth a lot of money? Surely she would know someone dealing in black-market antiquities."

"It is rather telling that she sent you here to find me specifically, and that as soon as you did, the gunman tried to kill us both.”

"So, you believe me?"

Shane laughed again. "Believe you? No. But it lends a little credibility to your story. Whoever you are, I know you're not a trained assassin."

Isaiah looked pained by this.

"I mean, I'd be dead already if you were, right?"

He thought he saw a slight smile on Isaiah's face.

Who am I? Shane asked himself. Calling him son, and now trying to make nice? He shook his head as they walked on, wondering if Michaela had gotten into his head and refused to leave. Perhaps she was still in there, rewiring his brain and making him—shudder—more emotionally well-rounded.

The café was a few hundred feet ahead, and Shane wanted to get as much information from this guy as possible. He knew if Natia was involved, the kid had gotten into some dangerous stuff. But what? Why choose a young graduate archaeologist from a relatively small university to do your dirty work?

"What happens if we find this thing? Whatever it is, wherever it may be. We get it, I retrieve it, I just hand it over to you?"

Isaiah shrugged. "There will be money, of course."

"Of course. That's how this stuff works, but talk of money usually comes later. After I've determined it's a job that interests me. So⁠—"

"$10,000."

Shane almost choked on his words. "I'm sorry. What?"

"$10,000," Isaiah repeated. "That's how much you'll get paid for helping me find it."

Shane considered turning around and leaving Isaiah in front of the café. He couldn't fathom what to say next, how to respond. His eyes shifted between deep squints and rolling back so far into his head he was afraid they might stay there.

Isaiah obviously picked up on the awkward silence. "What? I know it's a lot, but⁠—"

Shane couldn't hold in his laughter any longer. He stopped on the sidewalk, putting a hand on the taller, thinner man's shoulder.

He wiped a tear from his eye as he giggled. "I'm sorry, you said $10,000. As in, United States Dollars?"

Isaiah nodded, frowning and clearly not liking being made fun of.

"Damn, I've heard a lot of crazy things in my day, but this, this takes⁠—"

"I do not appreciate⁠—"

"I know, son. Isaiah. Whatever. But I can't take you seriously anymore. $10,000? You're serious?"

Isaiah nodded again.

"That's not ‘a lot’ of money. That's not even just a small amount of money—it's an abysmally small amount. It's an embarrassingly small amount. To take $10,000 to find this artifact, it would have to be a job I could complete in an afternoon. Without leaving my flat. Without getting off my couch, in fact.”

Well, futon. He wished he had a couch.

"I was informed that would be⁠—"

"Informed by who? Natia?"

"Yes. She said⁠—"

"Never mind what she said. Listen to me, Isaiah. What I do is a very specialized thing. There's no one else on the planet who can do what I can do," he lied. "For that service, I charge an astronomical fee. I don't waste time finding knickknacks and souvenirs. You understand this?"

Again, a nod.

“So if Natia actually told you she would pay me $10,000 after selling this artifact, then⁠—"

"Not after selling it," Isaiah said. "After finding it. See, she's willing to pay you even before she sells the artifact."

Shane pinched the bridge of his nose, once again looking up at the stars. "Potato, Clamato,” he said. "Same difference. $10,000 is so far from an enticing amount of money I have to wonder if she's doing it as a joke. A way to get my attention."

Isaiah looked uncomfortable, his eyes suddenly flitting back and forth again. Shane knew this wasn't a joke to the kid—a very real, very live gunman had come into Jason's bar and tried to kill them—but the insignificant amount of money Natia was offering seemed so inconsequential as to be nothing more than a way to get his attention.

Suddenly he realized. Isaiah's strange behavior and paranoia, the gunmen sent to kill him, and Natia's offhanded amount of money offered. It suddenly all clicked into place.

Isaiah seemed to sense a shift in Shane's demeanor. "What is it?" he asked.

"I know why they picked you," Shane said. "I know why Natia isn't doing it herself, and I know why they sent someone to kill you."

"You do?"

Shane nodded. "They don't want to find this artifact, Isaiah. In fact, it probably doesn't even exist."

"It does!" Isaiah said emphatically. "I just⁠—"

Shane held up a hand. "It doesn't matter. Isaiah, they're not doing this to get the artifact. They don't want to sell it, and they probably don't even care to find it."

Isaiah frowned. "Then why are they doing this?"

"I don't know who you are, Isaiah, or what you did. But whoever's behind this wants you dead."

CHAPTER 11

JACK

Movement caught Jack Swain’s eye through the mirror. He let the water continue running, air drying his hands in the sink as he looked into the mirror at where the motion had come from. The door to his right was opening. And stepping through was…

He turned around, a surprised expression on his face. “Cynthia?” he asked in shock. "What are you⁠—"

Her youthful smile was gone, replaced by the look of serious concentration. She put a finger to her lips, shushing him as she stepped into the men's restroom. She waited for the door to swing shut behind her, and then, as he turned around fully to face her, he noticed more movement from the stalls.

He recognized the two Middle Eastern men who’d entered with him, both wearing suits that almost matched, save for different colored pocket squares in each of their front coat pockets.

And they were suddenly running full-speed directly at him.

Jack stepped back, his butt hitting the protruding sink, wide-eyed. At the same moment, Cynthia stepped forward and stuck out a foot, catching the man on the right in his shin. He went down face first, and she drove forward, lunging over his back half and reaching out for the second man. Only then did the man seem to notice her, but it was too late. She latched onto his belt, and his momentum carried her and him toward Jack.

Acting on instinct, Jack sidestepped and brought his hands up, protecting his face.

The man had no weapon but grasped outward with a crazed look on his face, his fingers reaching for Jack. The young woman executed a flawless move—Brazilian jujitsu? he wondered—and brought the guy to his knees.

The pair grappled for a moment, and though he was at least 50 pounds heavier, he couldn't get his hand or arm free enough to wrap her up. She kept shifting, moving around with practiced dexterity, locking him in place for a moment until his superior strength broke free slightly, only to be captured once again by her superior skills.

Finally, she released his arm and leaned back, her legs kicking outward. She hopped off of him like a monkey jumping from a tree, immediately in a crouching position. A bit of her shirt was torn, and Jack noticed the strap and cup of a black bra underneath.

But she hadn't released the man in surrender. Instead, just as the first man was collecting himself off the floor and limping toward her, she struck with the flat, hard side of her palm. She caught the man she'd been grappling with under the neck, and Jack saw the man's eyes go wide as he gasped for breath.

She whirled around just in time to catch the first man on the bridge of his nose with an elbow, spinning around in a half-spin. Blood immediately sprayed everywhere, landing on her torn clothing, face, and right arm.

The second man was holding his neck now, still gasping for air, and she ran forward and kicked him in the stomach, sending him flying backward, where he impacted the back wall of the bathroom and collapsed. She turned to face the man whose nose she had broken, but he was crouched over, holding his face in both his hands.

"What—what happened?" Jack sputtered. "And who⁠—"

She held up a hand, not even breathing heavily. "Time to explain later. Need to get you out of here, Professor."

He sensed the tone had shifted between them. The innocent, giggling coed was gone, replaced by a hardened, experienced… whatever this was. And it didn't seem like the appropriate time to encourage her to just call him Jack, as the nature of their relationship was suddenly confusing once more.

She strode over to where the crouching man was bleeding onto the floor, trying to stand upright. He didn't stand a chance. She jabbed him twice, once in the side where his spleen was, and once in his neck as well. He choked, blood spitting outward and landing once more on the front of her body. She flung her wrists to get rid of the droplets, but Jack noticed it was in vain. The entire right side of her body was covered in tiny droplets of maroon, some perched now on the side of her face and hair.

Though she didn't seem out of breath, her hair was disheveled now, the blonde, wavy strands scattered in crimson.

"You go first," she said, her eyes motioning to the door. "There will be more, but they’ll probably be guarding the main exits. Is there a back exit behind the stage?"

Jack nodded, still in shock. He cleared his throat. "Yes, stage left. It's behind⁠—"

"I'll find it," she snapped. "Go, now."

Jack did as he was told, understanding that she was trying to help him. She had saved his life already, but was no doubt thinking ahead as well. If they left together, him fresh and proper, only his surprised look on his face, the crowd outside would immediately see a young woman covered in blood with a torn shirt. As much as he wanted to return the favor and offer her help, it would not be a good look to leave with her.

Nor did he think she really needed help from him — at all.

He swallowed, nodding once in confirmation, then strode quickly to the door. He pulled it open, sensing everyone's eyes in the place landing on him. It was all in his head, however, and he left the restroom only a minute after he'd entered, the survivor of an attack from two crazed men. Yet they hadn't been armed—what did they really want? If they wanted to talk to him, they obviously could have just done that.

It was clear they wanted to harm him, or perhaps scare the life out of him.

And it seemed to be working.

He drifted through the crowd, which was now thinning a bit since the presentation had ended and the patrons left for better drinking establishments, making his way back into the stage auditorium. He was about 20 steps away when his assistant intercepted him. "Professor, I⁠—"

"There are two Middle Eastern men somewhere here," Jack said quickly, his eyes darting left and right. He hadn't seen the other two men his attackers had been with before entering the restroom, but he knew the girl was right. They’re still here somewhere. "They're from another university, but I can't recall which. However, they're interested in partnering with us for a lecture next semester. Would you mind finding them and getting their information?"

He felt bad making assumptions that they were the only two Middle Eastern men left in the foyer, but he hadn't seen anyone else fitting that description. Their dark skin, dark hair, and features would easily give them away.

His assistant seemed surprised by the strange last-minute request, but he nodded quickly as Jack sidestepped. He pulled open the auditorium double doors and stepped inside, closing them behind him. He looked around. No one was inside.

He felt tears pressing against his eyes, the adrenaline only now allowing him to feel anything besides shock and surprise. He stepped forward once, then quickly changed his mind.

He aimed toward the back of the hall and started running at an all-out sprint.

CHAPTER 12

SHANE

“Time to come clean,” Shane said. “What’s going on?”

Against his better judgment, he had changed course and had walked the younger man back to his house. After his realization that Isaiah was being targeted for some reason, he felt better able to protect them in a space no one else was in. The last thing he wanted was another Jason’s Pub shootout, in a potentially crowded cafe.

Besides that, he wanted his space.

His weapons.

He had kept an eye out for anyone following, either on foot or in a car, and was confident no one had. However, that didn't rule out another attack at his flat—he knew he wouldn't be hard to find, if one was so inclined.

Still, he felt safest in his own home. Aside from the fact that he had a small stockpile of weapons and ammunition—all illegal according to the Australian government, now that he was technically a civilian—the flat still felt like a decent place to mount a defense. First, there was only one entrance—the front door. The back patio—if it could be called that—had no stairs leading down to the tiny backyard of the house below him. Anyone coming through the back door would have to somehow jump up onto the balcony first, swing themselves over the rickety old railing, and come through the locked door.

Plus, the fact that most of the four walls were screened in meant he had a 360° line of sight. There was one road parallel to the wall where his front door stood, and this was where he focused his attention. Anyone coming to clean up the mess the Middle Eastern man had made at Jason's place would likely come in a vehicle, and even if they parked down the street, Shane would see them arrive.

But all of that didn't mean he wanted to fart around and waste time. He flicked his eyes to the timid man who was standing against the sidewall, between the folding table he used as his dinner table and the futon.

"Lose your voice?" Shane asked. The kid hadn't spoken since Shane had delivered his message: Someone wants you dead. He believed it, and judging by the kid's reaction, Isaiah did as well.

The kid cleared his throat. "No, I… this is a situation I'm just not used to being in."

Shane smiled. "I hear that. But it's still the situation you're in. You have any idea why someone wants to kill you? And who it might be?"

He shook his head. "Maybe the woman? Natia, is that her name?"

Shane chuckled. "Son, if she wanted you dead, you'd have been dead before you saw it coming." It was harsh, but it was the truth.

He seemed to accept this as reality but didn't offer any other ideas. "I don't understand. I didn't do anything wrong. No one is out to get me—I’m a graduate student⁠—"

"Yeah, you told me all that already. Grad student or not, somebody wants something they think you've got. Or somebody wants you out of the way. Maybe it's information you have that you don't even know you have. That sort of thing gets people riled up, makes them do things they can't come back from."

"What sort of information could I possibly have that would make somebody want to kill me?"

Shane shrugged. "That's above my pay grade. We can start with the basics. Tell me about this thing Natia wants you to retrieve. Obviously, she wanted you to find me, and I suspect it's not just because she thinks I can protect you—that's not really my bag, if you get my drift. She probably thinks that finding this thing will save your life."

"So let's start there," Shane continued. "What exactly is this thing you want me to help you find?"

The kid stared up at Shane's dirty ceiling, the patchwork of dust and grime that had collected there over the years. He never bothered to clean it—who cleans their ceiling, anyway? But as he followed the kid's eyes and stared at the miserable state of the roof over his head, he started to feel self-conscious.

"Sorry for the mess," Shane said suddenly. "I don’t usually have company." And I don’t usually clean.

The kid didn't respond to this. Instead, he took a seat on the futon. Shane winced as he realized the guy's butt was right where his head lay.

"Well, my graduate work revolves around Egypt. Specifically, Giza—the Giza Plateau."

Shane raised an eyebrow. "As in the plateau hosting the Great Pyramid?" he asked.

The kid nodded. "Among other things, like the Sphinx and two other major pyramids. Tombs, gravesites, entire cities we still haven't excavated. Yes, all of that."

"You're an Egyptologist?"

"Of sorts. Well, not yet. I'm an archaeologist, but as I told you, I was born and raised in Egypt. I've always been fascinated by the pyramids and the history surrounding them. I was hoping—I'm still hoping—to get into some sort of archaeological program working to help excavate and restore places of significant historical value."

Shane scoffed. The kid looked at him strangely, and Shane chewed his lip for a moment before replying. "Sorry, it's just that I found things that are historically valuable tend to be wrapped up in a lot of politics and red tape."

"You're not wrong."

"But it sounds like you're on the right track. You'll need to have the right credentials, the right education, and even get a foot in the door, right?"

The kid nodded.

"Got it. So you're just doing your job, studying hard, trying to get good grades and all that, waiting for the chance to prove yourself. Your doctoral thesis will likely be the first opportunity you've got to do just that, and you don't want to muck it up. Then along comes our little friend Natia, telling you to come find me to help you find this mystery object. She scares you into action, and you do exactly that, spending money you probably don't have coming all the way here to my backyard."

He nodded again. "Yes, exactly."

"And she didn't say what this item was? You have no idea?"

"No idea. But I can find out."

Shane was surprised by this revelation. "And how did she suggest you do that?"

"She told me there will be people trying to get to it first. That much seems to be true."

"The only thing I've seen these people trying to get to first is you," Shane said. "Unless you've already forgotten the little showdown at my friend's pub—which, by the way, he’ll have a hell of a time cleaning up."

The kid lowered his eyes, as if the crazed attacker running in and shooting up the place and nearly ending their lives was somehow his fault.

"But go on," Shane said. "We know they're trying to kill you—apparently so that you can't find whatever this thing is first. That tells me you're not just good at what you do, all the history and all that—it tells me you have information you may not even know is there. You've been identified as the one guy on earth who can find this object and get to it before they do."

"Right, she said all of that,” Isaiah said. “And she said that if we can find out who they are and why they're after me, and why they’re after it as well, we'll find out what it is."

Shane rolled his eyes, trying to follow the circular logic. "Okay, I guess. That's a little strange but she's not entirely wrong. I still fail to see why she wanted me wrapped up in this whole thing, other than, you know, my experience."

"Speaking of," the kid said, scooting forward on the futon, his voice a bit more confident. "You haven't told me anything about you. And she didn’t either. What is your experience? Your expertise?"

Shane squinted through one eye. He didn't really feel like getting into the details—that his experience as a professional retrieval expert consisted of… precisely one mission so far. One that almost ended in disaster.

He didn't tell the guy that he had only just met Natia one time when she'd helped him escape a gunfight in that Swiss hotel. He decided to play it cool, to keep things mysterious.

"I'm a retrieval expert," Shane said. "That's all you need to know."

CHAPTER 13

JACK

Outside the auditorium, in an alley between the dining hall next door and the theater facility, Jack leaned against the brick wall and took a few breaths. He forced himself to hold each for a few seconds, letting them out slowly.

His heart rate did not seem to want to listen to his instruction to calm down, however.

What the hell just happened? he wondered. And who the hell is she?

Sure, she'd saved his life, or… whatever that was. She was clearly trained, but in what? Was she just a martial arts expert who happened to be in the right place at the right time? If that were the case, why had she come into the bathroom in the first place? And she had seemed to know exactly what to do afterward as well.

Not to mention she didn't seem to be fazed at all by the attack and her response to it.

No, she was no student. She was trained, perhaps military. He didn't know—he was just a professor. An academic. He had never served in the military, though his dad had been in the Army for a bit as a kid.

His experience with things like this was relegated to movies and books.

His heart finally slowed enough to allow him to think about the next steps. But he had no idea what the next steps should be. They hadn't exactly set a meet-up time or location—she’d just told him to go out this back door. Was he just supposed to wait for her out here? Was she going to come through the same way?

His question was answered only a few seconds later. The same door he'd left through opened once again. He tensed, waiting as he felt the tingling on the back of his neck. It could be one of the men who attacked him, here to finish the job.

"You okay?"

He immediately recognized her voice. One final deep breath, then he nodded as he spoke. "Yeah—I mean, I guess. What the hell was all of that? And who the hell are you?"

He was frowning, suddenly realizing he was upset. What was this feeling? Betrayal? She had been leading him on, he now realized. Making him think she was into him. Sure, she mentioned something about his files being hacked, suggesting she wasn't here just to flirt and act like an innocent coed, but this… this was something else entirely.

She was still covered in blood droplets, but most had sunk into her clothing, the stains darker instead of the bright red they had been before. The sheen was gone as well, and in the darkness of the alleyway, it almost seemed like a spotted decorative shirt. He was sure no one would notice at first, unless they took a much closer look.

She had matted her hair as well, running fingers through one side of it to pull the blood out of it. It wasn't perfect, looking a bit like a poorly dyed streak of pink, but again no one would notice unless they took an extra long glance.

"I'm not a student, if that's what you're asking," she said. She reached out for his arm, wrapping hers around it, and started pulling him toward the quad. This alleyway connected with the quad at the center of campus, and directly across from it was a parking structure behind the history building.

"Where are we going?" he protested. He tugged back on her arm, but found her even stronger than he realized. "I really need some answers, now."

She walked faster as she spoke. "I promise I will tell you everything you want to know. But we have to move. Those men—the ones after you? They're not going to stop."

He swallowed again.

"And there's a lot more of them."

"Who are they? And what do they want with me?"

"They're part of an organization of religious nut jobs. They’re mostly in Egypt, but I believe they are headquartered somewhere in Eastern Europe. It's a group I've been tracking for a while, but they're as slippery as they seem. They’re not a big group, but the members are like cells—they seem to reproduce on their own. Just when I take one or two out, two or more take their place."

They reached the quad and she slowed a bit, likely not wanting to spook any of the few students milling around this evening.

"As for your second question, they want your research. The same reason I found you. They're the ones who hacked you, Professor. Stole your work, your unpublished manuscript."

"But there's nothing in my unpublished manuscript. Nothing that would cause them to⁠—"

"Exactly," she said, interrupting. "They probably realize that, which is why they're here. They suspect you know more than what you put in that first draft, and want to question you about it."

"They didn't have weapons…"

She nodded back. "Interrogate is probably a better word," she said. "They weren't here to kill you, Professor. They were here to kidnap you. Probably bang you up a little bit, too. Keep you scared, guessing at what they want, but then much more willing to comply."

He looked down at the woman then, once again wondering what he had gotten himself into. Who the hell was she? And how many times had she done this sort of thing before?

"You said you were tracking this organization," he said, forcing his voice to be calm. "Does that mean you're with another organization? CIA or FBI, or something like that?"

"No, not anything like that," was her only response.

He guessed she wasn't quite ready to spill the beans on this little excursion, so he allowed her to guide him around the history building and into the parking structure on the other side of the quad. Once there, she led him to a vehicle. Nondescript, just a blue rental sedan, the compact kind at the lowest price point. She got behind the wheel, not bothering to open the passenger door for him.

That was fine with him—he didn't need to feel like the cute girl on a first date, having his door opened for him and enforced chivalry. Any return to normalcy he could find now he would take. He buckled his seatbelt as she pulled out.

"My name is really Natia," she said. "I work for different organizations, around the world. I'm a contractor."

He glanced over at her without moving his head.

"Yes, it's exactly what it sounds like. You saw me back there, so you know I know what I'm doing. This part was easy, however. No weapons, no killing. If we're lucky, your university police will chalk this up to a brawl, a fistfight in the restroom between those two guys."

Jack nodded along as if this were just another Tuesday evening.

"But as I said before, they're still looking for you and what you might know."

"Okay… they think I know something because of the book I published. Based on my theories?"

"Based on the theory, Professor."

"Please, call me Jack."

She seemed to struggle with this for a moment, gripping the wheel tighter as she reached the street behind campus. She turned left, not using the blinker, but kept the car tight around corners and in the lane as she accelerated up the hill that led toward town.

"Okay, Jack," she said finally. "Your theory on the Orion connection to ancient Egypt."

CHAPTER 14

SHANE

"Hold that thought," Shane said. He was still standing, ever vigilant, turning in quick circles between his conversation snippets with the kid to watch all sides of his second-story flat. "We've got company."

The kid shot up from the futon, standing close to Shane.

Too close.

"You ever heard of a personal bubble?" Shane snapped. The kid frowned at him.

"Never mind. Do something useful."

He was about to give the kid instructions, basically trying to calm his nerves and prepare him for what was about to come. He knew out the window by his neighbor's car across the street, the black sedan pulled up to the curb. It didn't take more than a second for Shane to realize who they were here to see. All four men exited the car and immediately looked up at his flat.

At him.

It was dark, and the single light hanging from his ceiling would easily illuminate Shane as he stood in the middle of his studio home. But it wasn't the fact that they made eye contact with him that unnerved him. It was what they were carrying.

Two of them had assault rifles—that was to be expected. They were obviously hired mercenaries, outfitted with whatever weapons they could get their hands on, probably personal favorites or something borrowed from one of the under-the-table shops nearby. The driver was holding a weapon, but Shane wasn't naïve. He probably had at least a pistol tucked into his coat somewhere.

It was the fourth man, the one who had gotten out of the back passenger side door, that was downright terrifying. This man was dressed like the others—mercenary—but he hadn't come to play around.

He was holding a long, narrow tube.

Shane's eyes widened. He knew exactly what he was looking at as the man turned to his home and faced him, aiming the tube forward. Shane backpedaled into action, nearly tackling the kid as he did so.

"Get down! Just—under the futon."

It was terrible advice, and not delivered with any confidence whatsoever, but Shane was surprised to see the kid comply immediately. He practically dove toward the futon, hitting his head on the bottom bar as he slid underneath it.

Shane got behind the small kitchen counter that ran most of the way along the backside of the house, forming the little kitchen inlet area. Again, it wasn't much, but it was the closest thing to cover either of them had.

Then his entire flat—his entire world, really—exploded into a searing flash of light and heat. Splinters cracked the cheap particleboard cabinets inward, blistering Shane's face and arms even as he turned his back to the explosion. Above him, debris fell, chunks of the dirty ceiling he was now glad he hadn't bothered to clean came crumbling down. Acrid smoke filled his lungs next, and though he knew it would dissipate now that there was a gaping hole in his roof for it to escape, he pulled his shirt up over his nose to breathe through.

What little furniture he had fell or clattered to the floor. He waited a beat, hoping the guy wasn't going to reload and try again. Rounds for that weapon were expensive, and he was hoping these were the cheap type of mercenaries. The kid was closer to where the grenade had hit, closer to the explosion. Shane knew the futon wasn't going to provide much in the way of cover, but he hoped that since the angle of attack would have launched the RPG through his front screen and toward the ceiling, that the worst the kid would have to deal with was some falling drywall and plaster chunks.

He called out to the young man. "You okay over there?"

He thought he heard a whimper, a sob. He felt bad for the kid—he had never been in a situation like this, and Shane couldn't blame him for reacting like this.

To his credit, the kid then croaked out a response. "Yes, I think. What do we do?"

Shane shifted to the side of the peninsula, his back still against the one cabinet door that hadn't been blasted away.

"Can we get away? Maybe out the back?" the kid asked.

Shane shook his head. While it was possible they could make an escape out the back door and over the deck rail, scampering through the small lot and over the fence adjoining his landlord's property to the house behind, it was likely their attackers had already split up, some of them heading for that back lot to wait for them to emerge.

More importantly, Shane wanted to know who was after them. "Sit tight," he said.

"What… we're staying here? Won't they⁠—"

"Yes," Shane said, standing. He took three quick strides and yanked open the tiny pantry door. It was a freestanding unit, one he added shortly after moving in. There were no closets or inset storage spaces in the flat, and most normal people would have used this freestanding six-foot-tall cabinet as a place to store foodstuffs.

But not Shane.

He yanked it open, revealing the thick metal door of a gun safe that barely fit inside. He quickly twisted the knob, clicking out the combination and pulling the safe door open. He smiled as he saw some of his favorite toys.

He pulled two grenades from the canister on one of the shelves, then grabbed a pistol which he shoved into his belt. Finally, he pulled out one of his favorite possessions—an assault rifle capable of making short work of these assholes.

He figured they would assume he would try to fight back if he were alive. That was the reason he told the kid to sit tight—he didn't want them seeing him move about and potentially getting caught in the crossfire.

CHAPTER 15

SHANE

Shane needed to stay out of sight. But he also needed to lure at least one of the guys trying to kill them inside, where it would be more of a fair fight.

He really, really hoped they didn't have another RPG.

It was unlikely — this crew had been cobbled together last minute, perhaps on standby in case their Middle Eastern friend came home. If this was supposed to be some sort of smash and grab, they wouldn't be well prepared for playing a tower defense game against Shane.

He slid the safe’s door closed, not locking it, but closed the pantry door. He rushed back down and resumed his position against the tiny kitchen peninsula. He heard voices in Arabic. He didn't speak the language but confirmed the man who attacked them at Jason's was Middle Eastern and was likely part of this group.

He waited an eternity.

The kid started to speak again. "Mr. Riley, are you –"

“Shh.”

For a moment, there was complete silence. The sound of smoldering — burning drywall, light fixtures, cheap ceiling material — reached his ears as the deafening explosion had dissipated and his ears returned to normal. He could still smell smoke, but it didn't seem like his house was engulfed in flame.

He wondered how long it would take before he started hearing sirens. The local cops were already on the scene at Jason's, he was sure, and he felt the phone in his pocket vibrate – perhaps that was Jason now, wanting to make sure he was okay.

The next sound he heard told him what he needed to know. A tiny creak, that one stupid stair that the landlord never cared to fix. Shane wouldn’t do it, either, so it had become a stalemate over the past year. He had sent the guy an email about it but never heard a response.

It would be easy enough for Shane to go down to the local hardware store and grab a drill and a pack of screws, but he was principled. It wasn't his to fix.

Now, he was glad for it because it told him someone was trying to sneak up the stairs through the gaping hole they made in his front door. He peered over the countertop, remarkably still intact, placing his head slightly behind the toaster sitting at the end of it. The assault rifle rested on the countertop, aiming for the stairs.

The first man came into view, precariously creeping forward, no doubt worried he'd make another sound on the creaky stairs and front porch. He placed a foot over the threshold, his heavy boot crunching broken glass and splinters of wood.

Still, Shane didn't fire.

He waited as the second man appeared, this one holding the same sort of submachine gun the Middle Eastern man carried.

The man was trying to get a read on the room, likely surprised it was so small. His eyes roved around to the ceiling, taking in the gaping hole there and the devastation caused down below.

Shane didn't have much longer – the man was likely realizing there were no bodies in view, which meant his quarry had either escaped or was still hiding somewhere inside.

Shane smiled. He pulled the trigger twice, two three-round bursts lurching out from the front of the assault rifle.

The first man stood no chance, two rounds piercing his back and one shoulder.

It seemed that the first round had gone through and hit the man standing behind him on the porch, but the second burst tore into him as well when Shane shifted his aim ever so slightly.

Two down, two to go.

The two men fell, one of them twitching a bit before he died. Shane listened, once again trying to force his ears to adjust after the overwhelming sound.

Sure enough, he heard voices a moment later, these coming from behind him.

He jumped up, racing through the back door – he’d always wanted to crash through a door and always suspected the back patio door would be a perfect place to practice. It was frail to begin with, nothing but screen and a few sheets of metal framing it out.

He blasted through, satisfied, but his job wasn't done yet. He lifted the assault rifle up in one hand and fumbled with one of the grenades with his other. He yanked off the pin and waited a three-count, then tossed the frag into his backyard. He heard a shout, followed by a quick burst of fire, and he ducked to the side, crouching down into the corner of his back deck. There was no cover here, as the deck was basically just rotting two-by-fours and a four-by-four post in the corners, but at least it would force the guy to have to aim better.

The grenade detonated a moment later, a scream as one of the attackers was thrown from the blast.

Shane immediately peeked around and down, letting the light from the explosion fill his backyard.

Thankfully, it was very small – about three-hundred square feet – and he saw both men immediately.

The man who had screamed was obvious to him, as he lay in a mangled heap in the back corner of his yard. The other man had been luckier, but only momentarily.

Shane took out a bit more frustration on this one, slapping three bursts into his chest, gut, and upper thighs.

The attacker crumpled forward, dropping his submachine gun.

Shane threw himself over the deck railing, feeling the precarious bend of the rotted pine ready to give. He landed on his feet and stood up, running quickly to where the man lay dying.

CHAPTER 16

SHANE

"Start talking!" Shane yelled. He pressed his boot down on the man's chest, not hard, but enough to elicit a response. The man writhed in agony. "Who sent you?"

It was a long shot, but it was his only chance at figuring out who the hell these guys were and how they’d tracked Isaiah directly to Shane. "Who do you work for?"

Not surprisingly, the guy's eyes rolled back in his head, his mouth opening and closing, but no sound came out. Shane knew the drill – he'd seen it before as an operative for the Australian military. He was no spy, so it wasn't like this was a normal Tuesday at the office, but he knew how to extract information from someone clinging to life.

That is, of course, if the guy had any interest in staying alive. Looking down at the guy now, it was clear to Shane he didn't. His eyes rolled back once more, his mouth sputtering a final time, and he fell silent. His breathing fell silent. Frustrated, Shane toed him in the side – not quite a kick, but just a bit of a nudge to help him pass to the afterlife.

Up close, even in the dark, Shane could tell the man was also Middle Eastern. Part of the same group that attacked him at Jason's pub. His features were dark as well, though this man otherwise looked nothing like the large behemoth who attacked them in the bar. His face was small, almost too small for his body, and though his body size was hard to get an accurate read on underneath his body armor and overcoat.

Shane saw the hole from the bullet that had finally killed him – one that landed just inside the gap on the man's side. A few of his rounds had hit the vest directly, spinning him around for one to pierce between two ribs. Shane's bullet likely bounced around a few times inside the man, ripping to shreds important organs and making his death far longer and more excruciating than necessary.

Still, Shane didn't feel much remorse. While he was no fan of killing for pleasure, these guys seemed to have had major beef with him and his young friend. For reasons unknown to Shane, they'd come here with one singular purpose – kill anyone inside still alive.

But why? Shane didn't know who the hell these guys were or what they might be after. He understood if this kid had gotten wrapped up into something sinister – it would make sense considering Natia was the one who'd sent him here – but what could be so important to these guys that they wouldn't even bother talking to Shane before killing him, an otherwise unarmed civilian.

He shuddered as he realized how close Jason probably was to death as well. If that monster had killed him in the bar, Jason would not have stood a chance.

He stood up straighter as he sensed a presence behind him. The kid was on the back deck, looking down at Shane and his small yard. He kept a hand steady on the railing as he descended the stairs, finally joining Shane outside. Shane saw immediately the kid was shaken up, but probably wanted the comfort of standing next to an armed, trained soldier.

He couldn't fault him for that.

He needed to call Jason, to verify his friend was okay and that the pub would survive. He felt shameful realizing he thought of the pub first before his friend, but knew Jason would understand. For all the times Shane had drunk alone and enjoyed ginger beer in Jason's pub alone, he hadn't exactly been overly communicative. Typically Jason was the one to meander over when things got quiet, offering a terrible joke or commentary on a news item Shane had no idea about.

Still, the guy was owed an explanation, even if Shane could only muster up something along the lines of they were here for us, not for you.

"Do you know him?" the kid asked.

Shane shook his head. "You?"

The kid stared down at the mercenary for a moment before looking back up at Shane. "No. But his features are similar to the man who attacked us in the bar. Egyptian, maybe Saudi. And I got a glimpse of the first guy who came inside as well. Same thing."

Shane nodded silently. He knelt down, crouching beside the dead man in his backyard, finally hearing the sound of sirens off in the distance. They needed to keep moving – he didn't know where – it was no longer safe here, either.

The police would not react kindly to Shane having a veritable magazine full of weaponry and ammunition. Though he'd been a soldier in the past, they would have more than a few questions about where he'd acquired such tools of the trade, especially the box of grenades that was still half full up there.

He unbuttoned the man's black sleeve, rolling it back on his arm. He immediately saw what he was looking for.

A tattoo.

Guys like this had often served – either in the military or behind bars. The latter group often joined up into soldier-for-hire crews because they played one too many video games in the slammer, or because they were gang members in a prior life and thought this a suitable penance for their sins.

So Shane wasn't surprised to see an obvious gang sign underneath the man's wrist. It was the size of a silver dollar, though it had no border around it. It almost looked like Chinese lettering – a relatively simple symbol he didn't recognize.

A few swoops, carefully stylized to give the symbol a sense of movement, with another line intersecting the other two.

"Almost looks like the symbol for pi," the kid muttered.

Shane nodded again. "Not pi, though. I don't recognize it, but it's some sort of gang sign."

The kid took out his phone and snapped a picture before Shane could protest. He realized then it was a smart move. He should have thought to do the same, but he was already in motion, heading back up the stairs as the kid slid his phone into his pocket once more.

"I need to see if the others match," he said. "Check the other guy outside. I'll be right back."

He didn't wait for the kid to argue. He ran inside his destroyed home, finding the two mercenaries on the floor, one face up by the door and the other laying half outside the front door, his head hanging limp over the first stair. He reached the first man and yanked his arm up. He wasn't wearing a long-sleeved shirt, so the symbol was easy to see.

In the light that had miraculously stayed on inside Shane's living room, he saw the symbol clearly.

It was a perfect match to the other man's.

The third man wore the same insignia, the same tattoo, and after returning to the backyard, the kid confirmed that all four men had come from the same group.

More than just mercenaries, Shane thought. Brothers-in-arms. Part of the same cult.

Whatever the organization, their loyalty would have been strong.

CHAPTER 17

SHANE

Shane was rattled, but calm. He sat at a folding table, in a chair that seemed to have been designed with one leg slightly shorter than the other three. It rocked back and forth as he shifted uncomfortably. He was not huge, but he was a larger man – 6'5", built like a tank, and while most of his weight was muscle, he had to admit age had started catching up with him lately, and some of that muscle seemed to have been replaced with fat.

Nevertheless, it made for an awkward way of sitting, but he couldn't complain. He and Isaiah were seated at the table in the back of Jason's pub, a makeshift office that Jason tended to use for storage and the odd day catching up on email and bills.

The police had come while Shane and Isaiah were being attacked at Shane's house, but after that attack, the three officers who had been attending to Jason's pub had collected statements and had been called over to Shane's house.

Playing leapfrog with the cops was not part of his plans for the evening, but he knew the group the attackers had been with would return in force, at any moment. The safest place to be normally would be the last place they had attacked – the assumption being he and Isaiah would still be there, battening down the hatches and trying to wait out the bad guys.

But since Shane had dispatched each of the four bad guys, no one would be phoning home to let the mysterious group know Shane and Isaiah were still at large. Thus, his house was still the primary target.

For that reason, he'd chosen Jason's pub as the next best meeting point.

As much as he hated putting Jason through any more of the brand of fun Shane tended to find himself in, he felt confident the group would look everywhere else but here for Shane and Isaiah. Still, he told Jason to head home for the night, that he didn't want him wrapped up in this any more than he had to be. And he told Jason he would be drinking a bit of his ginger beer stock, but he would leave a decent tip.

Tipping was not customary in Australia, but Shane had taken to treating friends like Jason with a few extra 20s when he could, simply as a way of saying thanks. In this case, he planned to peel off an extra few hundred dollar bills as a way of saying ‘thank you for letting us use your destroyed, bombed-out pub as an office while mercenaries try to kill me.’

It still wouldn’t be enough.

They sat in near darkness, Shane opting for the dim light of a single fake candle Jason had on a tiny desk in the corner rather than the single bulb that would easily illuminate the whole space. It wasn't that he was afraid they would be seen by the police or the mercenaries attacking them, it was that he simply felt tired. This was a way to rest his eyes a bit. He knew the drill – whatever they decided here wasn't the end, but merely the beginning. He needed to feel as restful as possible before continuing onward.

Not that he had decided to continue onward.

"Let me get this straight," Shane said, looking across the table at the small, wiry man. "Natia reaches out to you and says to find me. She knows what I can do – why I do what I do – but why should she trust you?"

He shrugged, then leaned forward on his elbows. "Honestly, I don't know. I'm an archaeologist, and I'm from Egypt, but that's it. I have no credentials, no published papers."

"Proximity, then," Shane said.

"Come again?"

"You were close to her at the time. Proximity. She didn't have time to go find the best archaeologist on the planet for this exact retrieval, she looked at what she had. That means you must've met her at some point. Tell me about that."

Isaiah swallowed, then nodded. "This could be true," he said softly. "I did meet her, though it was an accident. She came to the museum where I was attending a lecture. She caught me afterward, asked me a few questions about my background, my expertise."

"What specifically did she ask about?" Shane asked.

"I don't know… It was – at the time, I had no reason to suspect anything like this would happen. I think it was about Osiris. Or Orion."

"Which one?"

"They're the same – well, not the same, really. But the ancient Egyptians represented their god Osiris – ruler of the afterlife – as the constellation Orion."

"Okay, now we're getting somewhere," Shane said. "What else did she say about Orion?"

He shook his head. "Nothing. Honestly. It wasn't even long enough for me to consider it a strange conversation. We were all attending this lecture at a museum committed to preserving ancient Egyptian artifacts, so talk of Orion, Osiris, ancient Egyptians – that was all par for the course. To be expected."

"But she just left after that? And then contacted you later?"

At this, Isaiah seemed to blush a bit. His cheeks darkened, and he frowned, looking down at the table before looking back up at Shane. His mouth moved a bit, but Shane interrupted him.

"I see," Shane said slowly. "Yeah, she tends to have that effect on people." He flicked his eyes left and right, suddenly seeing pictures of Michaela – and Kate – flash before his eyes. "She's quite a looker, isn't she?"

"Yes," Isaiah stuttered. "I must admit I was a bit consumed by her appearance. I was naïve, perhaps even thinking she was interested in me."

Shane chuckled, and Isaiah seemed pained by this, so he turned the laugh into clearing his throat.

"She asked if we could exchange information. I gave her my email address, she gave me hers. I found out later it wasn't even a real email address, but nevertheless mine was, and she contacted me that way."

Shane nodded along. "She's careful, I'll give her that much. I bet the one she emailed you from eventually wasn't real, either."

"Correct," Isaiah said. "It was a honeypot, a masked email set up for temporary use."

"I don't have any idea what a honey… whatever… is," Shane said, "but that tracks with the Natia I met. So, she reaches out via email shortly after and asks you to find me. And you just… believed her? Hopped on a plane and came all the way here?"

The blush reappeared on Isaiah's face, as did the expression as he turned downward and looked at his hands, now laying across the soft faux leather folding table. "No, she sent me money. She asked for my help, but told me I could keep the money either way, even if I chose not to."

"So you took this to mean you should trust her?"

"What was I supposed to do? It was a lot of money, Mr. Riley. And I am a student, one looking for a way to produce ideas for my master's thesis, for my doctoral thesis. It's not like I had to skip five classes to come out here. I've got the time."

"I don't fault you for that," Shane said. "I'm as guilty as any of accepting a bribe. But I'm afraid that's what this might be."

"She's using me?"

"I have absolutely no doubt about that," Shane said. "But I suspect this is bigger than just you or me or Natia. We already know this group after us isn't just some set of rent-a-cop style mercenaries. They're believers. Occult. I have no idea what their cause is, or what they're really after. But Natia likely knew this and needed someone gullible enough – no offense – to get the ball rolling."

He noticed Isaiah didn't seem as pained by this slight as he anticipated. "I'm beginning to suspect you are correct, Mr. Riley," Isaiah said with a sigh.

"Call me Shane. And as much as I hate to admit it, I think we're going to be getting to know each other quite well over the next few days."

At this, Isaiah seemed to straighten up in the chair and seemed to perk up a bit. "Really? You'll help me?"

Shane held up a hand. "Normally I have two rules: I work alone, and I don't retrieve people. This doesn't break the second rule, but I want to be clear I'm not working with you on anything. You're along for the ride. I want to know what Natia is after because if it's worth something of value, enough that this group would send out a bunch of thugs to try and intimidate us, it must be financially valuable as well."

Isaiah sat still, not arguing.

"But I'm going to reiterate that point, just to be clear. I do not work with other people. It's too messy, too… squishy. Got it?"

"Got it," Isaiah said.

CHAPTER 18

JACK

Jack still couldn't fully calm his nerves. As he sat behind his computer desk in his office at the university, he couldn't help but feel he was being watched. He looked at every corner of his office with suspicion. If he had been hacked, had they come in here to do it? Had they stolen from him?

He didn't see anything out of place, but that didn't mean he felt comfortable at all. Not to mention the fact that he had just been attacked, apprehended in the men's restroom after giving his lecture.

They're still here, he thought.

"Please, focus," Natia said, pacing the room in front of him. The office was not small, though it wasn't substantial either. It was standard fare for academics who ran a track or had tenure at a university to have an office like this. A simple window letting in some natural light on one side, a door on the other, and a couple hundred square feet inside to put whatever was necessary to get the job done.

He had decorated his office like his father used to decorate his own home office many years ago. The furniture was nice – nothing real, but it appeared classic and classy. Bookshelves that matched, filled with his favorite poems and textbooks, another with academic journals and his publications, and a table spanning most of the floor space beyond his desk. There was a chair pulled up to the other side of his desk he used for meetings with students, but Natia didn't seem interested in sitting.

He noticed she was glancing out the door every few seconds, part of her ongoing watch.

"You think they'll come back?" he asked.

"Of course they will, it's only a matter of time. Which is why we need to focus. Anything you need here you should get, then we can move somewhere else. I would hope most of your work is online?"

He swallowed, then nodded quickly. "Yes – backed up, at least. I use a service the university provides, which is –"

"Which is the reason you got hacked," she said bluntly. "Universities like yours think they're better than publicly available technology, when in fact they're just quickly rolled up programs created in the IT department by some guy named John with a ponytail. Most of the time, they're poor knockoffs of the real thing, and more often than not they're even worse."

"I thought you said I got hacked while trying to upload the first draft to my publisher's dashboard?"

"The encrypted tunnel created from your computer –" she eyed his laptop on his desk, "and the publisher's network is where the breach happened. Best I can tell, anyway. I'm not a hacker."

"No… you're an assassin."

"I'm a contractor," she emphasized the word contractor. "I take jobs. Sometimes I have to… kill people."

Jack almost rolled his eyes. What's the difference? "Anyway, you know more about this stuff than I do, so if you say it was the university network, fine. Doesn't matter, they have my work. More importantly, they've targeted me as someone who knows something they want. That about sums it up?"

"It does, actually."

Jack rubbed his temples harder as Natia paced, her hyper-vigilant state only causing him more distress. "Who are these people? And why do they want me?"

"I'll explain what I know on the plane."

"On the plane?" Jack asked.

Natia turned and looked at him. "You know we can't stay here, right? I already explained that."

"You said that," Jack snapped, looking up from his desk. "You just have yet to explain much of anything. First of all – why disguise yourself? You had me thinking you were some young coed just here because you were interested in my work."

She smirked. "Am I not young?" she asked.

He swallowed, suddenly feeling his cheeks flush. "No, I mean –"

"When you're in a line of work like mine," she said, interrupting, "you find disguises are just part of the game. While it's unlikely I would have been recognized by anyone there, it's a precaution that is worth all the effort. I doubt those men who attacked you knew me, but they do now. Or, at least, this version of me. The next time we meet, they won't recognize me at all."

He nodded. "And all that talk of my work. I mean, hell, you were flirting with me."

Her smile widened. "Again, all part of the game, professor. Now, if you don't mind, we really need to go."

Jack shut his laptop, slid it into its sleeve, and unplugged it from its power block. "Where exactly are we going?"

He hadn't planned on traveling this summer, and though the semester was effectively over and he was free, the life of a college professor usually required him to stay back a few days to shore up final details, late assignments, and get a few days of focused time on any publications he had coming up. Since the only publication he was working on at the moment was the very draft that Natia claimed had been intercepted by this organization, Jack had no other matters to attend to at the university.

Still, he had never been one to just drop everything and traipse around the world. Especially not with a contract killer as his partner.

No, not partner, he corrected. More like… what is she to me? Nothing, not yet. He shook his head, visibly agitated as he worked through the details of their arrangement. Or what would soon be their arrangement.

She snapped her fingers. "Professor? Jack? You still with me?"

He nodded again, tucking the laptop into its sleeve and holding it under his armpit as he walked around the side of the desk. She glanced out the door of his office once more, satisfied they were still free from prying eyes or any forthcoming attacks.

"Cairo," she said. "I have another asset hopefully meeting us there. I want to get eyes on this group, see what they're doing, who's running this operation."

Jack let out a sigh. "I'm not military, not here. I'm not qualified for any of this. Why take me along at all?"

She glanced down at his computer, then back up at his face. "Jack, you don't understand. They won't stop. The men that found you in the restroom – there are countless more just like them."

"You're afraid they'll kill me if you're not here to protect me?" he asked with a wry smile.

The humor was completely lost on her. "They don't want to kill you, Jack. They want what you know. What they think you know. Whether you know something or not, they won't be satisfied until they… interrogate you."

Jack gulped. Somehow she made that sound worse than being simply shot by these guys and left for dead. He absolutely did not want to be tied to a chair, fingernails pulled out one by one, as they searched for an answer to some question he was almost sure he didn't have the answer to.

He wanted to debate, to talk it through, but Natia was growing more and more restless by the door. She had stopped pacing, now intently waiting for him to join her by the door. She hadn't posed any of this as a question – he knew the truth. It wasn't a question, it wasn't a request.

It was a demand, an order. Sure, she would likely be able to protect him if he stuck with her, but he was under no illusion that she was just doing it out of the kindness of her heart. She wanted something as well. He wasn't quite sure what – all she told him was that she was following this organization, trying to figure out who they were and what they were after. But it was abundantly clear they were after something Natia also wanted.

Was it money? What were her motivations? Was she hoping to cash in on the same prize they were after, and by getting to him first gaining leverage? Perhaps that's what this was, after all. She'd already duped him once, perhaps she was actually pretending to play nice so she could kidnap him out from under this organization's nose.

He didn't know what to think, so he decided to put any thinking on his agenda for later. Natia hadn't been threatening to him, as mysterious and enigmatic as she may be. He knew these men would try to harm him – that much was already clear. She hadn't done the same; on the contrary, she had saved him from the two men in the bathroom. It told him that at least for now, she could still be trusted.

He stepped forward, joining her at the door, giving one final nod.

"Fine," he said softly. "Let's go to Cairo."

CHAPTER 19

SHANE

Shane could almost feel his body aging. Aches and pains had been summoned to the surface by the attacks on him and Isaiah. Though he had not been shot – this time anyway – his body had reacted poorly. He cracked his neck, then rotated his upper body to crack his back in a few places. None of it helped.

At some point during the attack on his flat, he must have gone down on something hard, the edge of the table or chair or something. One of his ribs felt broken. He knew it wasn't, but wear and tear like this on his body felt far worse than it used to. He remembered during his time with special forces, feeling as though he could jump off a building and walk away. He was spry, young, fit.

Now, he just felt old.

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to force the 1,000 mg of ibuprofen he had just dry-swallowed to take effect. He felt Isaiah looking at him oddly, as if waiting for him to tell him what to do.

"Did Natia tell you where we're supposed to go? What she wants us to do?" Shane asked. "Did she give you any instructions whatsoever?"

Above all else, he was frustrated. Frustrated that this young man walked into his life, assumed he could help him, then brought hell down on both their heads. Shane had saved Isaiah's life as much as he had saved his own – in other words, he didn't do it just because he was a nice guy. He just didn't want to die today.

"Cairo. Tomorrow."

Shane popped one eye open, squinting back at the kid. "Tomorrow. Really.”

Neither word was a question, and Isaiah didn't take it as such. He simply continued on. "That's where they'll be. Natia and... she said she had someone else whose help she had enlisted. I'm not quite sure who it is, or what their skill set is. Maybe they're like you?"

He opened his other eye, but kept squinting through one. "No one’s like me."

"You mean no one has rules like you?" Isaiah said. Shane could hear his voice trembling, either from fear or anticipation that Shane would retaliate with his change of tone. "You only work alone, and you don't retrieve people?"

"Sure, that works."

"Will you go to Cairo tomorrow with me?"

Shane stared hard at the kid, barely noticing the destroyed state his flat was in around them. He wanted to keep moving, to keep away from whoever these mercenaries were from the cult-like organization they all hailed from. He knew they weren't going to stop – that at this very moment they were making plans to continue pressing the attack, to hunt down Shane and Isaiah.

He also knew that every moment he spent here, he put Jason at risk. He liked the guy – but it didn't matter. Jason didn't deserve to be brought into this as collateral damage. To become collateral damage.

"I'll go to Cairo. You stay here."

"But they'll kill me!"

Shane let out a breath, annoyed. "Yeah, you're probably right."

"So… I can go with you?"

"Sure, kid."

Shane had no plans to take Isaiah with him. He needed to figure out a way to ditch the kid without making it obvious Isaiah would no longer be protected.

"What time are we supposed to be in Cairo tomorrow? They don't run flights all night, you know."

Isaiah shrugged. "She didn't say. I figured we just get to Cairo as soon as possible, and she… would find us."

Shane nodded. He didn't know Natia very well, but that was absolutely the way she would handle this. His job was to get to Cairo, nothing else. She would take it from there. His mind was working, already putting a plan together. They'd get to the airport as soon as possible, book the first flight to Cairo, as circuitous as need be to both throw off their attackers and get to Cairo quickly since he knew there were no direct flights capable of spanning the distance anyway.

But at the airport, once the tickets had been purchased, he would⁠—

Scratch that. He would purchase their tickets online, tonight, ensuring that there was a credit card transaction trail for the cult to follow. He would use his and Isaiah's real names, making it blatantly obvious they were both headed to Egypt.

And that's where their journey together would end. Shane would simply arrive at the airport three hours early, get through security, and wait at the gate with both his and Isaiah's tickets. Without his boarding pass, Isaiah would be stuck at security.

Yes, that would work. He stood up from the folding chair and offered Isaiah a spot on the messy futon Jason kept open in the back office. "Get some sleep," he said. "Lie down in one of the booths out there. I doubt we'll have any more company tonight, but I'll sleep with one eye open."

"Okay," was all Isaiah could muster. He stood, shakily, then stumbled over to the futon. The kid was passed out in less than a minute.

Shane walked out of the office and back into the destroyed bar area. He found a booth that looked intact enough to hold his weight, then collapsed into it. As he lay down, his nerves still not quite ready to let him rest, he ran through the plan again.

It was good, he thought. I'll grab tickets now on my phone. Get through security tomorrow, and Isaiah will have no choice but to wait behind. The mercenaries will follow me to Cairo, thinking we're both there.

There was the small issue of having to explain to Natia why he had arrived in Cairo alone, but that was a problem for future Shane. He pulled his phone out and began scanning the airline's website.

CHAPTER 20

SHANE

Shane's plan had worked flawlessly. He’d slept for three hours, awoke quietly, and detached himself from the booth—the short, hard bench doing nothing to help his aches and pains from the battles the night before—and snuck out of Jason's pub.

That had been an easy task; there was still a gaping hole in the front of it where the door had been, and the only trouble he had was getting under and around the police tape they used to cordon off the area until their investigation continued today.

He’d quickly hailed a rideshare to the airport, got there three hours before the flight was scheduled to take off, and got through security with ease. The airport was small, and it was not busy this time of year. There were no holidays, busy travel dates, and it wasn't the weekend.

He found plenty of options to wait at his gate for the flight, as there was no one there yet, but he opted for a short row of seats that had no armrests, where he could sprawl out the length of them and catch a bit more rest. He awoke as the gate attendee began announcing the flight would be boarding in about half an hour. He rubbed his eyes, sitting up, smirking at the small crowd that was gathering by the gate.

Good work, Riley, he told himself. Isaiah is probably just getting to security, wondering where I am.

He stood up and headed toward the restroom as he saw a familiar face smiling and waving at him.

What the hell?

It was Isaiah, looking fresh, content, and confident as he strolled toward him past the security checkpoint.

How had he gotten through?

Shane had purchased the tickets himself, never giving Isaiah the boarding pass. He walked through security, showing his own boarding pass, and slept at the gate for the past three hours, confident that Isaiah was stuck on the other side.

He cleared his throat, stopping in front of the restroom as Isaiah ran toward him.

"Good morning, Mr. Riley," the kid said, exuberance on his face. "I was able to sleep surprisingly well. And while I'm certainly worried, I feel so much more confident knowing I have you with me."

Shane squinted back at him. "You… got through security?" he asked, incredulous.

Isaiah frowned. "I wondered if it was a test. You know, to see if I was worthy of coming along."

Shane slowly shook his head.

"Well, it wasn't hard. I just walked up to the counter and showed them my ID, said there was a boarding pass waiting for me."

Shane tried not to let his expression give away what he was feeling. He was feeling like an idiot. Feeling old.

I forgot to factor in how modern airports work, he realized.

"Was that… was that not the plan?" Isaiah asked, suddenly looking shifty.

"Yes," Shane said, clearing his throat again. "That was… exactly what I intended. I needed to make sure you were actually ready."

Of course Isaiah would be able to just walk up to the counter, flash his ID, and get the boarding pass that was purchased in his name. He hadn't had the kid's birthdate when he booked the ticket, but he knew his full name. That had been enough to purchase it. They would have asked him at the counter for his birthdate, which would have matched what it said on the ID. Not exactly expert-level cryptography and espionage.

"I need to hit the head," Shane said. "Our gate's right there. Boarding in 20 minutes or so."

Isaiah nodded, turned, and started walking toward the gate. Shane shook his head and entered the restroom.

He relieved himself and examined his face as he washed his hands. Not getting any younger, Riley. There were lines around his eyes that had never been there, marking his face in a permanent squint. His brow was more furrowed, with a bit more skin hanging loosely on his cheeks. Still, he was physically fit—aside from the extra 10 or 15 pounds.

Okay, 20 pounds.

He drank a lot of ginger beer, but had decided long ago it was better than the alcoholic alternative of regular beer. Plus, he liked when people guessed why he might be sober. Usually, people associated guys like him—ex-military, special forces, strong silent types—with cool stories. Histories of trauma or childhood abuse, a father who drank, a mother who was an alcoholic. Someone in the family who had overdone it at Thanksgiving, or just a terrible experience in college.

But he'd experienced none of that. He'd had a beer or two in the military, but it never developed the taste for it. Whiskey made him feel lethargic, and tequila made him feel crazy. He hadn't tried anything else, deciding long ago it wasn't for him.

When he’d discovered ginger beer during his first deployment, he was hooked. The sharp, sweet tang of ginger and soda set his tongue on fire, sometimes strong enough to clear his sinuses. That it happened to also be the most refreshing drink he'd ever tasted only helped.

Now, he thought of himself as a ginger beer connoisseur, able to pick out his favorite flavors and brands among anything set in front of him. The pub owner, Jason, had come to rely on Shane's palate for ginger beer, and they developed a sort of working friendship over the few years Shane had stopped in.

But those times Shane had stopped in were becoming more and more frequent of late. He had so much on his mind after his trip to North Korea—not just the intensity of battle and the terror of discovering the government research lab working on prion disease by harvesting eyes from the local village.

His heart had been weighed down with the knowledge that Michaela wanted something more than just a friendship. He had met her at the same time he met his late wife, Kate. They were working together, best friends and fierce competitors, and the three of them had developed a close bond. Shane had started dating Kate shortly thereafter. Far from being just the third wheel when Michaela and Kate hung out, Shane became fast friends with his wife's only girlfriend, and when she'd died, Shane assumed Michaela was just going to grieve and move on.

But she'd come back into his life like a whirlwind. Knowing she had ties and a way to get into North Korea, Shane had had no choice but to enlist her help. She'd come along, proving to be quite an asset to him and the others.

He splashed a bit of water on his face, blinked a few times to clear his eyes, then left the restroom.

He pushed the thoughts of Michaela, the team he worked with in North Korea, and his wife out of his mind. There were more pressing things to think about, more time-sensitive decisions that needed to be made. What was he planning to say to Natia? What was he planning to say when she would inevitably ask for his help finding whatever it was she thought he could find?

He told himself he swore by his two rules—he only worked alone and he didn’t retrieve people—would she be able to honor those requests? Would he be able to say no if not?

Isaiah waved at him again, now sitting in the very chair he had slept in moments before. The employee at the gate was giving instructions on how to board, explaining carefully how to read the ticket and boarding pass. Isaiah stood up as he approached, no doubt ready to pepper him with more questions and things he couldn't and didn't want to answer.

He rolled his eyes as he walked over.

CHAPTER 21

CLIVE

In Clive Hewitt's pocket, his phone vibrated. He winced, knowing the only line he allowed to even alert him was his sister's. He pulled it out, considered ignoring it, then thought better of it. Sarah would just call again. And again. And again.

Not one to be told no, Sarah Hewitt was in charge of the organization Clive co-led. He knew his place as the younger brother—Sarah appreciated his input and trusted his instinct to a point. But every decision Sarah made for the group was calculated, based not just on Clive's gut or rash decision-making but her own methodical, perfectionist tendencies.

He closed his eyes, swallowed, once again cursing, and answered the call.

"What have you done?" came his sister's voice. "I'm already hearing reports⁠—"

"Unsubstantiated rumors," Clive said quickly, interrupting her. "The reports can't be proven one way or another. They are just reports."

"They are reports of an entire archaeological group from Cairo University dead at the dig site."

His sister's voice was clipped, strained. Her sickness prevented her from leaving her house, though that house was a sprawling mansion with a dozen full-time staff taking care of her every whim and need. She merely had to ask for a particular meal or drink, and it would be whipped up faster than Clive could microwave a pizza.

They'd both been born into wealth, and while Clive appreciated having a financial backer for his exploits and projects, he had never been one to assume the life of an aristocrat. He was more interested in the fun and games of adventure and exploration—and all the dangers that came with it.

When his sister had gotten sick, she'd adopted the family estate as her own—their parents long since passed. His only sibling, Sarah, took over the organization their grandfather had begun many years ago, as well as the estate he had built in the 1960s. Originally the country estate of some long-forgotten English Lord, Jeremiah and Clive's grandfather had started renovating the mansion and grounds by rebuilding the main house and the three surrounding structures, as well as beautifying the grounds with a team of gardeners.

Sarah had kept up the place well, and the few times Clive visited, he had been impressed with his sister's eye for tasteful design and art.

But what had started as a perfect outlet for his sister's creativity and interest in the calm, quiet lifestyle of a wealthy landowner with an eye for beauty had become a sad devolution into a garish prison.

His sister was now wheelchair-bound, unable to stand or walk. Unable to clean herself, and soon, unable to feed herself. The debilitating physical illness was consuming her body from the inside out, and it was only a matter of time before Sarah's calls would be handled by an assistant or an AI-generated voice built of old vocal samples, controlled by electrodes connected to her brain.

But for now, his sister was fully capable of berating Clive for his actions yesterday.

"They were only going to get in the way," Clive argued.

"There are less permanent ways to handle these sorts of situations, brother," Sarah answered. "We are not lacking for resources. If you needed help controlling the situation, you should have⁠—"

"I controlled the situation just fine, sister," he said. "What I did was far faster and more efficient than anything and any other alternative. And who cares about these reports? They're clickbait headlines, trying to rile up the masses into generating ad revenue for them."

"People are dead. Five, to be exact, according to the news article in front of me right now."

Clive winced again. Six, actually.

"Clive, you cannot continue operating as though you are a one-man vigilante. Our goals are far more long-term than simply killing anyone who may be in your way."

Clive knew it was true, but he hated to admit to his sister when she was right. Because Sarah Hewitt was always right.

It was part of the reason Clive allowed Sarah to live her reclusive lifestyle, her physical situation notwithstanding. As siblings, they had been friendly competitors growing up, only 14 months apart. But early on, it was very clear that Clive was the more athletic one while Sarah was the more cerebral one. They remained close but went separate ways in college, each leaning into his particular gifting.

Now, Sarah ran the Order of Ascension cult while Clive provided security and oversaw any needs in that realm.

He usually deferred to his older sister's judgment without question, and on rare occasions when he did disagree, they were capable of sorting things out amicably with proper discussion.

Perhaps he was getting older and less patient, but lately, Clive had been operating without communicating with his sister much at all. He valued efficiency, speed, and effectiveness. All things his sister paid lip service to as well. But it seemed to take Sarah Hewitt centuries to make the simplest of decisions, weighing every option and opportunity so carefully the opportunity would be lost before she finished deciding what to do about it.

So, when Sarah had identified an opportunity here in Egypt, she'd instructed Clive to check it out. And that's exactly what he'd done.

"You need to slow down, maintain control of this situation," Sarah continued over the phone. "Please use the resources we have, Clive. We are near the end, and if this professor is correct, we may have just gotten a final piece handed to us."

Clive nodded along, knowing all of this already. "On that note," he said, "we still don't have the professor in custody."

"I figured as much, or you would have called already. Do you know when we will be able to get him?”

Clive sighed. "No, but it seems he had some help getting away at his university."

There was a long pause.

Clive continued. "We don't know who she is, but it seems he's working with a woman. Someone trained."

"A single woman?"

"Yes, though that's not a reason to underestimate her capability."

"Clearly. Do you know who the woman is?" she asked.

"No. Not yet. But I'm working on it—she knew to be protective of the professor. From what I've gathered, the two men sent to pick him up were overwhelmed in the men's restroom by someone they described as female, petite, and clearly well trained. That tells me she expected our attack. She expected us to be there. And that tells me she knows who we are, what we're after."

"Even more reason to do things properly, brother," Sarah chided. "We can't risk anyone else getting in our way."

"No one will get in our way. You have my word."

"Clive, these reports are going to trigger an investigation by the Ministry of Antiquities. Your clever move to make it seem like the work of grave robbers on a smash-and-grab job that went awry is only going to cause extra scrutiny from the Egyptian government. I wouldn't be surprised to hear if the central security forces have already been alerted."

Clive squeezed his eyes shut again, holding them there for a moment longer. Yes, that is exactly what he was afraid of. Still, they didn't know what he and Sarah were truly after. And he intended to keep it that way.

"You're right, sister," Clive said. "Of course. Rest assured, I will be alerting some of our men to take positions at each of the sites we're trying to investigate. We may not have men with archaeological experience, but we can certainly start patrolling them, waiting for this professor and his escort to arrive."

"Very good," Sarah said. "Please keep me posted."

Before Clive could respond, the call disconnected, and his sister's voice was gone.

CHAPTER 22

SHANE

On the plane, Isaiah found a seat three rows in front of Shane. Shane hadn't bothered to choose their seats, hoping the flight would be full enough that they would be randomly assigned, and he wouldn't have to sit next to the kid for the entirety of the flight.

Unfortunately, Isaiah had been assigned an aisle seat, and Shane had to cram himself, wide shoulders and all, into a middle seat. Clearly, the plane and seats inside had been designed by miniature people, likely not even humans.

Perhaps leprechauns? He wasn't sure, but it was clear no one any larger or taller than perfectly average height had been involved.

He begrudgingly nodded at his aisle fellows as they sat, one of them a man small enough that Shane wondered if his ancestors had been the exact types of people who had designed these chairs in the first place, and the other a woman who was talking so loudly — with a voice that should never have been allowed to leave her house — on her cell phone that Shane considered grabbing it, still attached to her head, wrenching both head and phone off of her neck, and tossing it to the rows behind him.

He changed his mind, wanting to bloody his hands this early in the morning.

He was still tired, his neck sore from sleeping in airplane seats, a broken pub booth, and then being rocked by not one but two attacks in the past 24 hours. He groaned inwardly as the woman, almost as large as Shane, seemed to decide that the demarcation line between their seats was merely a guideline and pressed her fat, sloppy knee against his.

Going to be a long day.

Isaiah turned in his seat, poked his head up, and waved at Shane, smiling.

Definitely the longest day of my life.

The plane took off, and about half an hour into the flight, Shane saw a man get up and turn, standing in the aisle. He didn't necessarily look like the man at the pub or the men who’d attacked him, but there was something about his face—deep-set, dark eyes, a long, thick brow, and the musculature—that suggested he might be related to them.

There was no other evidence to suggest he was part of the same group, but Shane tensed nonetheless, trusting his gut and instinct. The man's eyes swiveled side to side as he walked down the aisle, ostensibly toward the rear restroom. Shane thought his eyes landed on Isaiah for a few seconds too long, but he continued moving, passing Shane's own aisle. Shane held his breath, counted to three, then turned.

The man was five rows behind him, but he had turned his head and was now staring directly at Shane.

Shane gripped both armrests as tightly as he could.

Dammit, he thought. I should have spent a bit of extra time working out a way to fly military.

He still had connections, even in his sleepy beachside town off the coast of Australia. It might've taken an extra few hours, but he was sure he could figure out an arrangement that would get him—and, if pressed, Isaiah—onto a transport headed for Europe. He doubted it would have gotten him and Isaiah to Egypt by the end of the day today. But at least it would have prevented anyone Shane didn't approve of from coming on board.

Shane kept his breath steady, swallowing. There’s no issue until there’s an issue. Nothing he could do unless the man provoked him or Isaiah. He was unarmed, and he assumed the man was as well. This wasn't America, and even though post-9/11 security had spread throughout the Western world, Australia had always been a bit more strict.

The man returned five minutes later and sat down, four rows in front of Isaiah. Flight attendants came up and down the aisle, their chirps of conversation mostly inaudible to Shane's ears, but one came and took his drink order. He ordered ginger ale, the unsatisfactory counterpart to the equally nonalcoholic ginger beer he knew and loved. But before she could return with his drink, Isaiah got up and walked toward the front of the plane.

They were closer to the front half of the plane anyway, and he knew there was a restroom up there as well. Shane waited, watching the back of the man's head who had come down the aisle previously.

After Isaiah had been in the restroom for a minute, the man stood up, glanced back and met Shane's eyes, then walked forward toward the lavatory.

Shit.

CHAPTER 23

JACK

Jack and Natia’s flight to Cairo was uneventful. Aside from a bit of mild turbulence, Jack was able to catch a few hours of good sleep. He knew he would need it – this was no archaeological expedition in the sense that he was used to. He was not flying to present a lecture or paper to a professional organization, nor would he be received by an academic institution and put up in a nice hotel as he had experienced on so many occasions.

No, this time, he had no idea what to expect. This was an altogether new venture for him.

While he was certainly glad Natia was here – she had proven quite capable of handling herself and him all at once – the fact that she was here made him feel uneasy.

If I need a mercenary by my side the entire time, I'm definitely not safe.

He looked over at her, gazing down at the Mediterranean Sea through her window. It was as if she could sense him watching her, and she turned to face him suddenly.

He briefly saw the youthful twinkle in her eye as she noticed him, but it was replaced by a hard coldness just as quickly.

"Were you able to get some sleep?" she asked.

Jack had noticed that her voice had shifted to what he assumed was her natural tone: English but clipped in an Eastern European sounding way. He wondered where she was actually from. He knew now that her hair was dyed, naturally dark. She had been wearing makeup, or at least more than she normally wore, last night at his lecture.

Strangely, he found her even more beautiful now. Likely because he could tell she was much closer to his age than that of the young coed.

But her flirtatiousness and cute demeanor were completely gone now, much to his dismay. It had been replaced by this professional, careful, likely calculating person he shared the row with.

He wasn't sure he liked this version of her personality as much, but knew that there were far bigger problems to face than whether or not he could get along well with her.

Finally, he nodded. "A bit. Never did sleep well on planes. I'm too tall and my head just rolls over the back most of the time."

She didn't smile, simply waited for him to finish. "We'll be on the ground in less than an hour. If Riley got my message, we should be getting to the airport about the same time, his flight landing 15 or 20 minutes after ours."

"Who's Riley?"

"Shane Riley," she said. "I met him… a while ago. I'm hoping he can help us. He was flying in from New South Wales, Australia, and the only flights landing in Cairo today that had connections from there are the one just after ours and one landing tonight. If he's not on the first one, we'll wait near the airport until that one lands." She paused. "If he's not on either of them, well, we'll have to just do this without him."

Jack frowned. "You trust him? I mean, you got me pulled into something that's obviously far bigger than just what I was going to publish."

She nodded slowly. "He's a bit naïve, new to the game, but yes. I trust him well enough."

"The game, huh? Is that what you assassins call it?"

She rolled her eyes, Jack once again seeing a brief glimpse of the personality he'd been introduced to last night. "He's not an assassin. For the record, neither am I. I just… do that only when I have to. Otherwise, I'm more like private security."

"Like a bodyguard for presidents and heads of state?"

"Okay, more like offensive security."

Jack frowned again, but it was an apt description of what he'd seen the woman do last night. And it was clear she wasn't willing to give him any more details about her line of work. Perhaps he could try uncovering a few more layers of the onion, in that case.

"What about not work-related stuff, Natia?" he asked. "Where are you from originally?"

She looked back out the window, then spoke quietly down toward her tray table. "Europe."

"I got that much. Where in Europe? I've actually traveled quite a bit –"

"I'm from Europe."

Jack swallowed, nodding. Okay, so the onion will remain unpeeled.

"I haven't had a chance to go through your work," she said suddenly. "What is it about your unpublished manuscript this group wants so badly?"

He looked at her strangely. "For someone who's not familiar with my work, you seemed quite familiar with my theories last night. The questions you asked, they were –"

"They were obvious," she said. "I'm not an archaeologist, but I'm not an idiot. I'm also not an academic, forced to toe the line and buy into a set of beliefs determined by some academic club. As such, I'm not afraid of asking interesting questions. I call it like I see it."

Jack was still studying her, but he couldn't help but smile. He felt the exact same way, even though he was part of that academic institution.

"Anyway, I've been chasing this group for some time. They are bad people – at least I think so. I'm trying to prove it, and when they started going after you and your work, I was intrigued. The little bit of research I've done suggests that they believe there's some old pyramid or something in Egypt. One that's gone unnoticed since it was built. What's inside, I can't even begin to imagine, nor can I begin to understand why they would want it."

Jack smiled more broadly. "The Pyramid of Osiris," he said. "That's what my research has been about. I also have no idea why they would want whatever it is they think is inside, but that could very well be the thing they are trying to find."

"It makes sense they would be after it. The group calls themselves the Order of Ascension. No idea what it means, except that they worship Osiris. Or something to that effect."

CHAPTER 24

JACK

"The Order of Ascension." He mulled it over, chewing on the words a bit.

"That's the Anglicized version of their name, yeah," Natia said. "I just call them the OA. Whatever they're after, it's important enough for them to start doing… things like what they did last night. I'm sure they wouldn't have killed you, Professor, but I have no doubt they would have used extreme interrogation methods."

"You've seen them do it before?"

"Hard to prove, but yes. I do know they are a very small, secretive group. Not terrorists in the sense that governments have reason to worry about them, so they typically fly under the radar. But they are well-funded, well-resourced. And overzealous to the extreme. Whatever it is they think is in this pyramid, they want it very badly."

"I understand," Jack said. "They think I can help them find it, speed up their timeline, at which point they will have no use for me."

Natia nodded. "Almost without a doubt. You would disappear, your university would find clues of some sort and write it off as an unfortunate accident while on vacation. I wouldn't be surprised if they even have a plan to explain your hiatus the last week of the semester, if it came to that."

Jack swallowed. "While that all sounds… not so fun… I'm glad you're here. You know – protecting me."

"I'm only protecting you because I want to stop them."

He was sure she hadn't meant to sound as cold as it had, but he rolled with it anyway. "You mean you don't care about me? Not even a little bit?"

She feigned an exasperated sigh, punctuated by another slight eye roll. "You know what I mean."

"You would just let them take me? To… have their way with me?"

"Okay, now you're just being gross."

He laughed louder, looking past her perfectly symmetrical face out to the cerulean world beyond. They were banking now, turning sharply so that the window was entirely filled with the ocean. He saw dots out there, boats going about their seafaring ways, performing one role or another to keep the inter-Mediterranean trade routes active and useful.

"Seriously, though," she said. "This is likely going to be a very dangerous job. I never would have brought you into it if they hadn't targeted you first."

"I figured as much," he said. "As much as I look like I could be an Indiana Jones wannabe, I'm far more comfortable behind a desk. And as dashing as I am, I'm not sure my looks would've been enough to persuade them not to harm me."

"I must admit, you do have quite the punchable face."

“Punchable – what the hell does that mean?"

She giggled, a crack in her impenetrable armor of a closed-down personality.

"Call me Jack, by the way," he said. "I've been calling you Natia, but I'm getting the sense that that's still not your real name, is it?"

She looked at him strangely for a long moment, then finally shook her head. "No, it actually is. The disguise I wore last night – the persona, really – was something I threw together. To get your attention."

"Well, it worked. Though I must say – this would've worked just as well." He stared at her face, almost seeing a slight blush on her cheeks.

Did I do it? he wondered. Did I finally make her blush?

"Anyway, Natia – thank you. This isn't a mess I would've chosen to get into, but I absolutely prefer not to be alone in it. If there's any way I can help, I'm yours."

He almost winced at his choice of words, but she didn't seem to mind.

Or, she didn't seem to care. Her expression had not changed even the slightest, and he wondered just how hard it was going to be to peel back the layers of this onion.

CHAPTER 25

SHANE

Shane unbuckled his seatbelt and stood, bumping his head on the stupid overhead compartment that the ancestors of the tiny man sitting next to him had so thoughtlessly designed. The woman next to him was no longer yammering away but now deeply consumed by a raunchy-looking reality show featuring scantily clad, beautiful young women and men.

He didn't bother asking for permission—he simply pressed her tray table up, smashing her phone against the seat back in front of her, and rudely pressed his way through her soft, yogurt-like legs. She yelped something in pain or anger—Shane didn't care which—and jumped into the aisle, nearly tripping over a perfect foot.

He walked slowly at first, then saw the flight attendant at the front dodging the man who had gotten up, ready to enter—and thus completely block—the aisle with a tray full of beverages.

He ran, catching her by surprise, but didn't bother explaining himself. He reached the front as all four people collided: Isaiah, who had just exited the lavatory; the man, who was grasping at his neck; the flight attendant, who was knocked to the side by Shane's elbow, flinging drinks up into the air and onto herself and the other flight attendant behind her working at the coffee station; and Shane, who only cared about the man directly in front of him.

The commotion was not loud, at least not loud enough over the sound of the whining engines to cause anyone in the first few rows to notice. As he grappled with the man trying to attack Isaiah, he caught sight of a gentleman in the first row of the aircraft, wide-eyed in surprise at the sudden outburst. The flight attendants were both extracting themselves from the coffee station, one wiping soda and other beverages off her apron while the first picked herself up off the floor.

The man hadn't seen Shane coming, so Shane quickly wrapped his arm up and under the shoulder and rolled him slightly to the left, by the aircraft front door. Careful not to bump the release latch for the emergency exit, he held the man as tight as possible, locking his elbow into his neck.

Isaiah was trying to tell him something, but he couldn't hear it over the noise. He held the man as he wriggled, trying to writhe free. But Shane was far stronger, and the man had not had a chance to prepare for the attack.

Shane held him there for 45 seconds until he passed out. He gently laid him on the floor, tucking his knees up onto the cupboards and his head against the folded jump seat the flight attendants used during takeoff and landing.

Finally, he stood and turned to face a shocked Isaiah and two bewildered flight attendants. He glanced at the front row and saw an older couple staring at them all. He offered a kind smile and addressed the first flight attendant. "Sorry about that, ladies," he said. "This is my patient, got a strange ailment, sort of like Tourette’s… but with physical manifestations."

He cocked his head to the side, as if addressing the sleeping attacker.

"You're a… doctor?" the first flight attendant asked.

He nodded quickly. "Yep. It's a small practice, as you can imagine. I have to travel with my patients sometimes, either to dole out meds or help with—this sort of thing."

Please don't ask any more questions, he thought. He already felt the limits of his medical knowledge reached.

"Odd," the second flight attendant said. She was a bit older than the first and seemed to be scrutinizing every word Shane said. "Never knew a doctor who had to travel with his patients."

Shane winked. “My patients are quite wealthy, a bit paranoid. And it's a very specialized practice. Can't really get into the details, of course. Doctor-patient privilege."

He had no idea if doctor-patient privilege was actually a thing, but it sounded right. And since he was already lying about being a doctor…

"Listen," he said, placing his hand on the first flight attendant's shoulder, hoping to redirect and shift their focus off of his professional life. "I didn't want to cause a scene, so I gave him one of his meds just now. He's asleep, but as you can see he's breathing just fine. He'll wake up before the end of the flight, and I would hate to have to redirect everything on account of one little outburst."

From the looks on both of their faces, he sensed they felt the same way. He had traveled enough to know the last thing any flight attendant wanted was to have to redirect the flight, land somewhere nearby, and fill out a bunch of paperwork.

"Would you mind if we just strapped him into this chair here for the remainder of the flight? I'll keep an eye on him for you, and once we land you can talk to him a bit, get the report done or whatever it is you need to do."

The flight attendants looked at each other, then back at Shane and the man crunched up in the corner of the front of the aircraft. Finally, the older woman spoke. "Fine by me. The sooner the shift ends, the better."

The other one nodded along.

"Great." He turned to Isaiah, who was still wearing the same shocked expression on his face. "Sir, I'm so sorry for all of this. Do you mind helping me get him into this chair?"

Isaiah played along, crouching down by Shane and helping him lift the man by his armpits. Shane pulled down the flight attendant jump seat, set the man on it, then used the shoulder straps to keep him in place. His head hung as he slept soundly.

"He—he attacked me," Isaiah said to Shane.

Shane shook his head. "But I got to him first. Not now. I don't want these ladies suspecting anything more."

Isaiah nodded, then smiled at the flight attendants and headed back to his seat. Shane wasn't sure how long the man would be out—hopefully at least an hour. They had a long flight ahead of them, but the plane would stop for refueling in 45 minutes before making the long jump over the Indian Ocean to Cairo.

With any luck, he and Isaiah could get off, corner the guy, and get some information. Worst case, Shane would at least force the man to stay behind and not make the longer leg of their journey.

As he headed back toward his own seat, he wondered if there were any more like him on the plane. Was this man working alone? Or were there more attackers lying in wait somewhere in one of the 200 seats?

He approached his seat, and the large woman frowned at him as he approached, but moved her flabby legs out into the aisle as far as she could to let him through. It wasn’t far enough to do any good, but he appreciated the gesture.

He sat, closed his eyes, and planned the rest of his day.

CHAPTER 26

CLIVE

The air was putrid and dank, a brown haze flattening over the horizon and shrouding the buildings. Clive hated Egypt, particularly Cairo. What had once been an incredible historic site, the remnants of a once vast and powerful empire, had become a tourist trap and mecca for thugs and crime lords.

Even the nicer districts had a seediness to them, a black undercurrent beneath the façade of luxury and wealth. Most people traveling here came to check it off a bucket list, see the pyramids, gawk and point at the ancient sites, then go back to their villas in southern Europe.

Clive took a long drag from the cigarette as he squinted through the pollution toward the Giza Plateau. Far in the distance, he could just see the tops of the pyramids of Khafre and Khufu, the shorter Menkaure pyramid out of sight beneath dirty old buildings blocking his view. The three smaller pyramids that stood next to Menkaure’s were completely absent from view, far too small to poke out above the modern buildings standing between the site and Clive’s hotel room.

He made it halfway through the cigarette before putting it out on the railing of the hotel’s small patio deck and then flicking it over the edge. He'd given up smoking a long time ago, but lately, the habit had returned, and half a cigarette a couple of times a day was his concession.

His sister was right – they were getting closer every moment to their final prize. But that didn't mean it would be easy. This last leg of their journey would be the hardest yet. While they had intercepted Professor Swain's research and had a decent idea of the location of the lost Osiris pyramid, it wasn't clear which of the numerous possibilities Swain had pinpointed would be the correct one.

As such, he would have to divide and conquer. As he explained to Sarah, he would send three men to each of the sites, lying in wait and setting a trap for Swain and his associates.

The girl – whoever she was – concerned him, but he hoped to have more information about who she was and where exactly she'd come from within the hour.

He spat, trying to clear the taste of the cigarette from his mouth. Not that he didn't like it – on the contrary, he didn't want to remind himself of the sweet release of the addiction any longer than necessary.

He hoped his fellow OA brethren would pull through. Some had military experience, though none of them were still soldiers. A few were capable of providing intel, thanks to connections they maintained from their past lives. He needed one of these men to come through and deliver. He needed to know what he was up against.

Grabbing Professor Swain from the university was supposed to be an easy job, one the two men would have no trouble accomplishing. Instead, it had become a disaster – he'd seen the American media articles on the strange attack at the lecture, and though the reports were localized around the university's geographic region and not national news, it still meant Sarah was right.

The tension had been ratcheted up, more scrutiny filed on. The woman had left one man alive, thankfully, but that too caused additional problems. If they somehow weren't able to get out of the United States, they would be detained, questioned by police, and not having experience with interrogation, they would likely stumble over what to say and potentially reveal what group they were working with.

Clive doubted the American government had any interest in tracking down the OA – they weren’t a terrorist organization, and they were very small. But they were passionate and secretive. They needed to work in the shadows, outside of the prying eyes of the public. Any scrutiny was bad.

Especially now.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and started making calls. His men were ready, waiting for his go-ahead. He had already sent them an update and delivered the instructions, but he wanted to wait as long as possible to see if Professor Swain would show up in Egypt himself.

Both he and Sarah thought it likely Swain would come to Cairo, escorted by the woman and potentially others to keep him safe. He had men watching the airport, and so far no one matching the description had been found. That told him they were either still traveling or weren’t going to be coming at all.

But if he did, his men would be ready. He was sure the woman, experienced and well-trained, would have no trouble overcoming three of his men should she and the professor reach one of the sites. But he instructed his men to call him immediately, and he would be able to get more men to the site in a matter of hours.

It was a game of cat and mouse, and he didn't enjoy not knowing exactly what the plan would be, where, or when. Sarah was right, as always. They needed to stay on top of this, to get Professor Swain at all costs. The woman he was with might be trained, but she certainly was not going to be able to overcome 30 of his own men.

CHAPTER 27

SHANE

"You were going to leave me in the airport, weren't you?" Isaiah asked.

Shane stared at the kid. He was standing in the aisle, Shane off in the small exit space where he had placed the mercenary who was still out cold. They leaned toward one another, discussing quietly, yet having to raise their voices to hear each other over the sound of the high noise floor.

"Yeah."

Shane could visibly see Isaiah's heart sink.

"But what of it? I already told you I work alone. And that's not just because I don't like you. Frankly, I'm completely indifferent toward you. It's just that I do better alone. By myself, without distractions."

"But maybe I can help. Maybe I could⁠—"

"Help with what?" Shane asked. He motioned toward the unconscious mercenary. "That guy was going to kill you. You barely had time to get your hands up before he shoved you back into the bathroom."

"I meant help in other ways. Like… thinking through all of this."

Shane raised an eyebrow. "You don't think I'm capable of thinking through things?"

Isaiah sighed. He looked down at his feet and then back up at Shane. "No, Mr. Riley. I didn't mean it like that, and you know it. I get that you're a capable and well-trained soldier of some sort. Obviously, Natia wouldn't have told me to find you if you weren't capable or qualified. But these men want something, and I doubt it's just to pick a fight with you. Whatever they're after, it could be something my expertise can help them find."

"Or, more likely, you're just in the way for both of us now. That's why they want to kill you."

They were interrupted by one of the flight attendants, who stepped forward and placed a hand on both of their arms. "I'm going to have to ask you to take your seats. We will be landing shortly."

Shane nodded, taking a seat once again next to the mercenary while Isaiah headed back toward his own seat in the aisle a few rows back.

The landing was smooth, and the man next to him hardly stirred. Shane considered giving him another sleeper hold but thought better of it, for fear that the flight attendants—now scrutinizing him from their own jump seats opposite his—would suggest that he was not who he said he was and did not actually have this man's health interests in mind.

No, he needed something better. Something more… permanent.

The plane taxied in a wide arc around the runway and finally parked at the terminal. Announcements were made in both English and Arabic, as they had landed at Hamad International Airport in Qatar before refueling and swapping out some passengers who would be staying here or catching another flight elsewhere. Their plane would be heading for Cairo in less than an hour, but Shane needed to ensure he and Isaiah got there without the mercenary following.

He stood when the plane had parked, stretched, and smiled at one of the flight attendants. "I'm going to grab a bite to eat for both of us," he said. "If he comes to, tell him to sit tight and I'll be right back. Or, if he's feeling adventurous and needing more meds, he can find me at the chicken place a few gates down.”

Before the flight attendants could protest, Shane darted out the open door of the plane. He knew Isaiah had stepped into the aisle to ensure he could at least see the conversation, though he knew the younger man wouldn't be able to hear it. Still, he hoped he’d get the message and follow Shane out.

Shane waited for what seemed like everyone on the plane to disembark before Isaiah sauntered slowly up the gangway and spilled out into the terminal with a gaggle of other travelers.

Shane quickly grabbed his arm and pulled him to the side. "This next part's going to be tricky, but we have to pull it off. We can't let this guy get back on the same plane as us.”

"I—well, what am I supposed to⁠—"

"Look, you wanted to help? This is your way of helping. Just do exactly what I say, when I say it, and let's make sure this guy doesn't get to meet up with his buddies in Cairo."

Isaiah was still hesitant but nodded anyway.

Shane dragged him along, heading for the first restaurant he could find. It turned out there was no chicken place, but it was a good enough guess, and likely a fair enough guess that the flight attendants wouldn't question him. Chances were they had no idea what restaurants were directly outside the plane in the terminal anyway.

CHAPTER 28

SHANE

The plan was a good one. The more he thought about it, the more Shane liked it. Sure, he was a little biased as he had been the one to come up with it in the first place, but he still liked being able to think quickly and react on the fly.

This part was simple – they had already swapped out their ticket to Cairo for one that would take them past Cairo to Barcelona, Spain. From there, the much larger hub serviced multiple flights to Cairo, and though they would be hours later than expected, he was sure they could still get there tonight.

Most importantly, he needed to get them lost in this small airport. Their pursuer would assume they would try to sneak back onto the flight to Cairo – that was their final destination after all, and the mercenaries chasing them would know that.

He was already seated in a chair against the window, looking back into the terminal. He had tucked his head down into the jacket he had packed and retrieved from his suitcase, and he'd changed into black jeans instead of the light khakis he'd been wearing.

It wasn't the best disguise, but it would have to do.

But he knew the man was chasing Isaiah first and foremost. The kid was, for whatever reason, their primary target. He'd already been attacked once on the plane, and it was crucial Isaiah follow this part of the plan to the T.

The kid was pacing, standing next to the counter at the not-chicken place Shane had seen. It served some sort of local cuisine, but the sign and the menu were in Arabic.

Isaiah could read and speak the language, obviously, and Shane was hungry enough to risk whatever it was that would come out of the window Isaiah was standing next to.

For his part, Isaiah looked absolutely ridiculous. He'd already followed this part of Shane's plan – completely disguising himself. Shane had intercepted a businessman getting off their flight after his own wardrobe change in the restroom. He offered the man money for his clothes – not the ones he was wearing, of course, but the ones he had packed. He was a Brit, traveling through Qatar on business, and Shane suspected that while he wasn't lacking for money, the $500 he’d offered for his suitcase, minus his laptop and anything else he wanted to retrieve from it, was easy money. Wherever the man was headed, he’d decided he could purchase new clothes and a new carry-on suitcase.

The man seemed unconvinced at first, trying to size Shane up and determine how he was being played.

But Shane persisted, held out the money, and the man shrugged, took it, and walked away.

Now armed with new clothing, Shane then handed the suitcase over to Isaiah. He told the kid to go into the restroom and get dressed – putting on whatever was in the suitcase that suited his tastes enough.

He winked when he said it, suspecting there wouldn't be much inside that would suit Isaiah's tastes.

Boy, was he right.

Isaiah was now wearing the baggiest pants he'd ever seen, a loose-fitting button-down pink shirt, and a bright yellow suit coat on top. The man had apparently been planning some downtime during this trip as well, as Isaiah had found a stained blue ball cap inside as well. This he placed on his head, wincing as he reemerged from the restroom.

Shane burst into laughter. The kid had come to him, halfway across the world, without his own change of clothes. Upon asking him about it, Isaiah had only shrugged and said he had been scared, motivated by Natia's words, and hadn't thought much of it. He figured he would touch base with Shane and either purchase clothes there or keep what he was wearing and travel back to Cairo.

Since that's exactly what had happened, Shane figured he should have been glad to have a new wardrobe – one Shane had paid far too much money for.

But Isaiah didn't seem excited about it at all. Instead, he simply disappeared into the baggy clothes as he waited for their food – another thing Shane purchased for them out of pocket.

Shane opted to sit by the window to keep an eye on the space, to ensure their mercenary friend didn't wake up and start prowling around the airport.

Frankly, that was exactly what Shane expected, knowing it's what he would do in this situation.

A moment later, the window next to the restaurant opened and a tray of food was slid out. Isaiah mumbled something, picked up the tray, and turned toward him.

At the same moment, Shane saw a man appear in his peripheral vision, walking through the terminal. He knew in an instant it was their mark. The mercenary had awoken, gotten off their plane, and was now frantically looking through the airport for him and Isaiah. Though he walked calmly, with quick, smooth strides, Shane saw in his eyes the trepidation of having possibly lost his quarry.

Shane steeled himself. Isaiah hadn't noticed the man yet, and their paths were going to almost cross perfectly. He waited an excruciating five seconds as the pair met in the middle of the terminal. Was the mercenary going to notice Isaiah in his ridiculous disguise?

It was clear Isaiah was not in a hurry, while the mercenary was. The older man walked briskly now, his head snapping left and right, taking in everything as fast as possible. If he'd seen Isaiah, he hadn't thought to scrutinize him. Isaiah continued moving, not even noticing the mercenary.

Shane held his breath as they passed in front of one another. They were three steps away in the center of the walkway. Isaiah stopped, allowing him to pass, and he did.

Shane let out his breath. Only then did Isaiah notice who it was, his eyes widening, his hands gripping the tray harder.

He looked up at Shane, who gave him a quick, slight nod. Thankfully, Isaiah understood and continued moving toward the window where Shane was sitting.

Isaiah took a seat across from Shane, smiling as he sat.

Shane rolled his eyes. "Did you enjoy your first experience as a top-secret spy?"

"It was thrilling," Isaiah said. "Truly invigorating. I can't believe this disguise works."

CHAPTER 29

SHANE

"The key to a good disguise is to not look obvious," Shane said.

Isaiah frowned, then glanced down at his clothes which were, by any definition, quite obvious.

"No, I mean like you're obviously trying to disguise yourself. Most people, aside from actual spies, aren't going to know what to look for. Obvious disguises are things like mustaches, long hair, changing hair color, that sort of thing. Usually, when people disguise themselves, it looks weird. Off somehow."

"I still feel vulnerable," Isaiah said. He started to glance over his shoulder.

"Don't," Shane said. "I've got eyes on our man, and he's still scouring the terminal. He will until it's time to go, likely. But he saw you already, didn't think anything of it, and kept going. That tells me our disguise is doing exactly what it's supposed to do – look ridiculous, but not like a disguise. You just look like some kid who doesn't know how to dress himself."

"But he knows we're in here somewhere," Isaiah said. "And he's going to suspect we disguised ourselves."

"Trust me, he won't know. He's not a spy; he's a hired gun. A grunt. He's gonna start scrutinizing all the wrong people for all the wrong reasons."

Shane looked over and saw that their flight was about to begin boarding. As confident as he tried to sound, Isaiah was right. This man wasn't going to stop looking for them, and he wasn't going to assume they looked the same as they had looked before. At some point, he was going to double back and take a harder, closer look at the patrons in this airport terminal.

He hoped they were on the plane and ready to go by then.

They ate in silence, Shane surprised to find that the local cuisine was nothing terrifying – no live snakes or eyeballs or monkey brains, just some sort of chicken soup. It was light, yet had a depth to it that provided a good bit of heat. In short, it was satisfying, and exactly what he had been craving.

He wished he had a ginger beer to wash it down with, but he settled for one of the fountain drinks Isaiah had picked up.

Fifteen minutes passed before the man reappeared, walking back in the direction he had come from. As he expected, he was moving slower now, his eyes landing on each and every person, holding there for a moment. Shane knew he should've sat somewhere away from Isaiah, but figured the gathering crowd by this gate would be sufficient to get lost in.

As the man approached their gate, the attendant called over the crappy, single-speaker system that the flight was now boarding.

Shane waited for others around him to stand and begin gathering into a blob at the doors, then he stood with Isaiah and joined them.

Isaiah was looking straight ahead, still playing the role of undercover spy, not wanting to call attention to himself. He held out the ticket Shane had given him, and Shane stood a few paces away, enough people between them that it would hopefully not be obvious they were together.

Shane glanced over and saw the man watching the people gathering. It was clear he didn't see Shane or Isaiah yet, or if he had, he hadn't thought twice about them.

The man had gotten a few clear looks at Shane, but he knew his picture was likely not in the man's dossier or saved on his cell phone. He was, assuredly, looking for Isaiah. The gate attendant began checking tickets, scanning people through, and the blob that had formed became a line. Isaiah and Shane were part of the first group, and he felt the tension building inside as he willed the gate attendant to go faster.

All they needed to do was cross that threshold. At that point, the man couldn't follow them inside. There was no way he had a ticket to Barcelona – there was no way to guess that was where he and Isaiah would go, nor was there any chance he'd purchased tickets to every destination. Even if he had tried, whoever was at the ticket counter would have had a few extra questions for him.

They were about three steps away from the gate attendant and two people behind when Shane caught the man's eye once more. The man didn't linger on Shane but instead on the back of Isaiah's head.

No.

He still doesn't know it's him. Still can't see his face –

"Isaiah!" the man suddenly shouted, pronouncing it with a thick Middle Eastern accent.

Shane's eyes widened as Isaiah spun around, involuntarily responding to someone shouting his name.

Dammit, kid. You just ruined us.

The man broke into a run, Isaiah's eyes widening even further than Shane's as he realized what he'd just done.

The gate attendant waved the two people in front of him through, and Shane pushed Isaiah forward. The attendant had no idea the man was running toward all three of them, nor did he seem to care about moving any quicker.

Shane counted the steps off in his head. Three seconds until the guy gets here.

The gate attendant scanned Isaiah's ticket. It beeped on his computer terminal.

The man looked up and smiled at Isaiah, prepared to exchange pleasantries with one of his airline's passengers. Instead, Shane slapped his ticket on top of Isaiah's and said, "Please, we are in a bit of a hurry."

The gate attendant closed his mouth, frowned, but scanned Shane's ticket just as the man reached the edge of the line of people.

He had to slow then, darting around a family and a couple, but by then Shane had pushed Isaiah into the tunnel. He followed but kept his head cocked sideways, listening to the pounding footsteps of the man.

I need to time this right…

Isaiah was walking quickly down the ramp now, safe for the moment.

The gate attendant shouted something in Arabic, likely telling the man barreling toward the gate to slow down. Shane heard a few gasps and even a scream from an older woman as the mercenary knocked himself through the crowd.

Then he broke free, hearing the footsteps speed up once more.

Shane slowed, trying to make it look as though he couldn't hear the man at all.

He knew what the mercenary's move would be. Now free of the gate attendant and clearly not being apprehended yet by airport security, the man would be free to take out Shane. He would likely rush forward, much as Shane had done on the plane before, and try to tackle Shane out of the way.

That means…

Shane crouched, whirled around with his upper body, lacing his fist into the palm of his other hand as he shoved his elbow backward.

He'd timed it perfectly. Just as the footsteps ended, as the man launched off his feet and aimed directly at Shane's back, preparing to wrap him up in a tackle.

Instead, he met the point of Shane's elbow with his nose, cartilage immediately crushed, blood splattering around his face.

Shane was pushed forward, the man's weight far greater than the impact of his elbow, but it was a close match. Shane suffered no damage, though he stumbled forward a bit, but the man fell straight down onto the gangway floor.

Blood poured over the stiff carpet. The man howled in pain, writhing on the floor, his hands doing little to prevent the blood from pouring out.

There were some onlookers at the doorway, including the gate attendant, who was calling something in on a walkie-talkie that had appeared in his hand.

Shane feigned surprise. "Oh my gosh," he said quickly. "Oh my goodness – I didn't mean… I think he was trying to attack me."

The gate attendant nodded in confirmation, said something more, then lowered the walkie-talkie. He switched to English. "You do not know this man?"

"No, I –" Shane backed up, holding his hands up. His elbow was a bit sore, but no worse for wear. "I saw him running toward me at the last moment, I was going to turn around and… Oh my gosh, I didn't mean to do this."

He thought he could sense tears welling in his eyes. Yes, good. Keep it up, Clooney. You’re a natural.

The gate attendant offered a kind smile, his face softening. "Please, don't worry about a thing. I saw it all. It was an accident, and you were just defending yourself. Security is already on the way, and they will be here to apprehend him. I doubt they will need a statement from you, considering you are just an innocent bystander."

Shane nodded, his mouth working open and closed. "Thank you, I –"

"Do not worry about a thing," the man said. "We will get everyone on board as quickly as possible. I don't want to upset anyone."

Shane stood for another moment, but was surprised to see the gate attendant quickly begin scanning tickets once more, as if nothing had happened. As if a bloodied, face-down mercenary wasn't lying on the floor of the gangway.

The older woman who'd screamed was next in line, and she carefully sidestepped the man as she started down the walkway.

Shane tried offering her a smile as well when she passed, but he was met only with an angry, annoyed expression.

Apparently, not everyone was easily convinced.

CHAPTER 30

SHANE

As the plane's wheels touched down in Cairo, Shane awoke with a start. He hadn't realized he'd been sleeping, but was glad to have gotten a bit of it.

He yawned, stretching in the tight, cramped quarters, and glanced over to Isaiah. Travel through Barcelona had been uneventful, and on this last leg of their journey to Cairo, Isaiah had opted for a seat across the aisle from Shane. It wasn't a full flight, so both men had the seat next to them open.

Isaiah was looking at Shane and offered him a small nod.

"Ready?" Shane asked.

Again, a nod. The kid was likely feeling anxious, nervous, scared, all of the above. He'd never been in a situation like this, with a group trying to kill him. It was one thing to be hypervigilant because of military training, knowing that at any moment you might have to defend yourself. But to be chased, knowing for sure there was somebody, somewhere, that wouldn't hesitate to simply kill you – that was a whole other level of adrenaline.

Isaiah's face remained impassive, however. If he was sweating bullets, it was all internal. He was doing a fine job keeping everything inside.

The plane taxied and finally stopped at their gate, and Shane waited the insufferable ten minutes for the people in front of them – clearly tourists who had never traveled before – to get their things. He examined each one in turn, standing up, a confused look on their face, glancing up at the overhead compartment like they'd never seen it before, then finally opening it, retrieving their bags in careful, slow movements that suggested they had nowhere else to be. Then they would slowly lower them to the floor, extract the handles of the rolling suitcases or gently put the backpack strap over their shoulder, and then crawl toward the exit.

Every time Shane flew on a commercial flight it was the same. And every time it was infuriating. Just get off the plane. All of us have somewhere to be.

An older woman directly in front of him suddenly turned and caught his eye. He wondered if she had somehow read his thoughts, somehow knew he was silently judging her.

He offered her a kind smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. She slowly turned back around, performed the exact same motions everyone else in front of her had, and he could have sworn she was going even slower than the previous passengers just to spite him.

When it was his turn, Shane stood up, expertly leaning his head diagonally to not bump it against the underside of the bin, then deftly stepped into the aisle and began walking toward the exit. He didn't bother making sure Isaiah followed – if the kid didn't know what to do now, he couldn't help him.

He had to wait behind a blob of three old people conversing and chatting with the pilot and flight attendants, but after that, he was in the clear. He strode up the elevated ramp and spilled out into the airport.

Immediately the cacophony reached him and he felt like he was in another world. Cairo International was not small, and it was quite busy today.

Isaiah joined him, darting his eyes left and right. "See anyone suspicious?"

"Everyone looks suspicious if you stare at them long enough," Shane said.

Isaiah rolled his eyes. "See anyone trying to kill us?"

"No. And if I know Natia, she'll have made sure there's no one like that waiting for us."

"You think she's here now?"

Shane briefly had a moment of doubt – they had changed their plan a couple of times already today, coming in a bit later than expected. But he had shared none of those plans with Natia – his assumption was that she would be here, waiting for them to arrive, and only start trying to reach out to him or Isaiah if they didn't appear in 24 hours.

Shane wanted to get out of the busiest section of the terminal, so he walked with the traffic in one direction toward a larger atrium-like area with a handful of dining options sprinkled around the perimeter. He could see immediately that it was far busier than the gate area, but he also felt his stomach beginning to growl. If they had to wait, they might as well get some food in them.

He turned to say as much to Isaiah when movement behind the kid caught his eye.

He reached out to grab Isaiah's shoulder, but the movement formed into a shape, then the body of a human.

A strikingly beautiful human.

She appeared like an apparition, melting out of the throngs of people and standing by Isaiah's side without a word, without a sound.

Shane almost shook his head in disbelief. He thought he was observant, and yet she had simply maneuvered around the crowd of people and snuck in without him even suspecting.

She smiled at him and offered her hand.

"Natia," he said.

"Shane Riley," she said, letting her eyes fall slowly down his body and then back up. He wasn't sure if it was an look of interest or of judgment – he had put on a few pounds since the last time they'd seen each other – but it didn't matter. They didn't have time for flirtatious pleasantries. More movement caught his eye behind Natia.

He steeled himself for a moment, when a man's face appeared from behind a family of five, and he lowered his guard. The man was shifting awkwardly, trying to push through the crowd without dislodging anyone from their path, stepping around kids and their mother and eliciting a strange look from her.

Finally, he was free and joined Natia. He was breathing a bit heavily, but held out his hand to Shane. "Professor Jack Swain," he said. "Archaeology department —“

"Let's do this later," Natia said suddenly, interrupting him.

Shane examined the man's face and his look of disgust at being interrupted. But his expression was still pointed toward Shane, as if he were the one who had interrupted him.

"Yeah, fine. Sooner we get out of the airport, the better,” Shane said. He didn't bother trying to tone down his Australian accent at all. Instead, he found himself elevating his head a bit, sticking his chin out ever so slightly. Immediately he laughed inwardly.

Am I really trying to best this guy? I never was the jealous type.

Shane wasn't, and he had no need to be – as far as he could tell, Natia was interested in Shane less than Shane was interested in a beached whale.

Yet women who looked like her often had this effect on men like Shane. It was nature, hundreds of thousands of years of evolution, leading to these exact sort of awkward moments between two males, posturing over the attention of a female.

No one bothered to address Isaiah, so he simply shrugged and found a spot in line in front of Shane and behind Natia as they all left the food court area. Jack seemed to know where he was going, as Natia let him lead. They left the airport and walked across to the nearest parking garage, where Jack guided them to a waiting rental car. "Picked it up when we first got here," he explained. "Natia didn't want it in her name."

He pulled out keys from his pocket and opened the driver's side door, while Natia headed for the front passenger seat.

No one offered Shane – by far the tallest of the group – the front seat.

He thought about grumbling an argument but changed his mind as he and Isaiah walked to the backseats of the small sedan. This wasn't the hill to die on, and as much as he hated having to play nice, he knew it was in everyone's best interest.

He had already broken one of his rules – to only work alone. He wasn't about to leave Isaiah alone. Their fates were intertwined now, and leaving him for the wolves would weigh on Shane's conscience. Isaiah was innocent, and Shane knew what the mercenaries intended – and he knew they wouldn't quit. So his only option was to let Isaiah tag along. It wasn't ideal, but as long as Shane was swept up into this mess, Isaiah would be there with him.

Natia and the professor made a bit more sense. The professor likely – hopefully – had information and wisdom to help them along. Natia's expertise was more physically apparent. Inasmuch as he hated to admit it, he liked her company.

So he was going to be a team player, against his better judgment. Until they figured out what was going on and got these crazed assassins off their tail, Shane would be a cog in the wheel that was Natia's latest adventure.

Now, he just had to figure out what it was she wanted him to actually find.

CHAPTER 31

JACK

Professor Jack Swain drove carefully. He wasn't a bad driver, it was just that he felt somewhat anxious with everyone else in the car. Natia was giving him directions, but only doling out each instructions at the exact moment he was supposed to follow them. When they came to a turn, she would wait until they had almost passed the street before telling him to turn left or right.

As such, he had both hands gripping the wheel, and he couldn't help but hit the brakes ever so slightly as they passed each intersection. It was nerve-racking, but he wasn't about to complain. Shane Riley hadn't said much from his seat in the back. Every time he glanced in the rearview mirror, he saw what looked like a smirk on the man's face.

Is he silently judging me?

He felt his palms begin to sweat.

No, that's just the way his face looks.

The man was rugged, experienced. He was about the same age as Jack, but it was easy to tell Mr. Riley's past had included the type of experience only gleaned from military training. Natia hadn't given him a briefing on the other two travelers, other than that Shane was an acquaintance and work friend and Isaiah was just a kid interested in helping out.

He knew by now to expect that Natia was holding back, keeping the cards close to her chest. For what reason, he couldn't begin to guess. But he knew that in her line of work, knowledge was a weapon, to be wielded at just the right time.

"Left," Natia said softly. He yanked the wheel left, swinging the rental car hard left to make the turn. Without skipping a beat, Natia turned in her chair and continued the conversation she'd been having with Riley. "I understand you think of yourself as quite the ‘retrieval specialist,’ Shane," she said, her voice clipped and her European accent on full display. "I hope you'll forgive Isaiah's intrusion."

Jack watched as Shane raised an eyebrow, squinting through his other eye. "Intrusion? He didn't so much as intrude as he just stumbled into my friend's bar, yammering on about some guys after him. Those guys were the intruders.” He stopped, then scowled at her. “And, really appreciate the heads up,” – would have been nice to know to watch my back."

"I didn't think they would move so quickly."

"The first guy didn't move quickly enough to dodge a cutting board."

"What?"

Shane shook his head. "Natia, what's this all about? We've been chased through the airport, attacked on the plane, and you should see the sad state of my flat back home."

Jack glanced over at her, watching her as she considered her words. "It's exactly what you suspect – I need you to find something."

"I gathered that much. But even Isaiah doesn't understand what we're really after. What is it?"

"History. Proof."

Jack followed the road she sent them down and suddenly he could see the great pyramids of Giza off in the distance. Just the tops – the pyramids of Khafre, Khufu, and Menkaure, with only a tip thrust above the residential buildings far in the distance.

As they approached, he knew the Great Sphinx would come into view as well, the entire scene one he was intimately familiar with. He'd been to Egypt twice over the course of his professional career, and once as a child. The two later trips he'd taken had been excursions, study abroad programs where he taught and entertained students interested in the field of archaeology. Both times he'd been guided along by a mature guide from the Ministry of Antiquities, both to provide professional courtesy to the trip and to ensure no one stepped out of line.

The government of Cairo and Egypt was not overtly hostile toward Americans or tourists in general, but they had a shorter fuse than their counterparts in Europe and the rest of the world. The ministries in charge of different aspects of Egyptian culture took pains to maintain pride and integrity in Egyptian history, all the way down to rearranging elements of history to fit their agenda.

For many years, leaders of the ministries of antiquity had served both their own personal agenda – not unlike the way politicians maneuvered themselves up the political ladder in Washington, DC back home – as well as the nation's agenda.

However, that agenda which began as a way to ensure to protect the artifacts and items of historical importance for the nation, a valiant endeavor, had morphed over the years into one that put Egyptian archaeology and history above true history and actual archaeology.

Jack could think of a handful of stories where foreign archaeological sites had been closed, their artifacts requisitioned by the Egyptian government, and all credit and work lost, only to reappear years later under the guise of archaeological work produced by native Egyptians.

So he was somewhat relieved to not have to worry about any such guide or antiquities curator commandeering their romp through Egypt. On the other hand, he worried that their being here, poking around, potentially visiting yet-to-be excavated ancient sites, would only ruffle the feathers of the government and cause more harm than good.

But this wasn't his trip. He wasn't in charge, he was only along for the ride. Natia seemed to have a plan – so far, she'd been one step ahead of the group trying to take him. He didn't like how slowly she would dole out pieces of information, like treats given to a dog when they obeyed, but who was he to argue with it? When she saw fit to tell them what the hell they were doing in Egypt, she would tell them.

Not that he didn't have some ideas. Natia was suggesting that to Shane in the backseat. "Our professor friend here is the foremost researcher on ancient Egypt, at least as it relates to Osiris."

"Osiris?" Shane asked.

"The hod of the underworld?" Isaiah asked.

Natia shrugged. "Seems they were a bit loose with definitions back then. God of the underworld, protector of the underworld, in charge of the afterlife, whatever you want to call it. And he was part of a family of mythological stories that involved other characters as well. Isis, Horus, Anubis."

"Yes, I know this," Isaiah said excitedly. "Some believe the Sphinx is not supposed to be a lion with a Pharaoh's head carved on it, but in fact, Anubis – a dog. One whose head was reworked and re-carved into the face of Pharaoh."

Jack nodded as he drove, finally feeling excited to talk about something he had some expertise in. "I do believe that may be correct, Isaiah," he said. "I also believe the Sphinx is far older than Egyptologists believe, and I know for a fact there are many mysteries yet to be solved about its creation that Egyptologists refuse to acknowledge."

"Namely, the fact that there is water damage along the base. That suggests to me the Sphinx was around long before the region was plunged into arid conditions. If it had been hewn from the rock around it, or created from blocks hauled in from elsewhere, like the pyramids, placed where it is now during the timeframe Egyptologists suggest, there should be no water damage like that – for there hasn't been torrential downpours like that since 7,000 years ago, at the earliest.”

"Wasn't the whole desert fertile as well?" Shane asked him. "Like a rainforest or something?"

Jack nodded, impressed. "That's correct. Though I don't believe the Sphinx is that old, we do know the entire region was once a lush, tropical subtropical rainforest."

"Anyway," Natia said, redirecting the conversation. "I've asked Jack to come along because his knowledge of the region is both unparalleled and untainted by modern Egyptology. In other words, he has his own opinions about the nature of the pyramids here and elsewhere in Egypt, and I happen to believe them."

Jack felt warmth passing through him as she handed out the compliment. My God, the effect this woman has on me.

She continued. "Isaiah is from Egypt and has studied the pyramids and their construction extensively. He has yet to be brainwashed into the groupthink mentality modern Egyptologists often buy into, but there's another reason I've asked him to come along."

Jack was wondering this as well. Shane Riley, he understood. The man was clearly a soldier, and though Natia didn't seem to need much help in that area, Jack felt far more comfortable having an attack dog by their side.

"I believe this group wants to get to Isaiah as much as they want to get to you, Professor," she said.

He swallowed.

"However, I don't think they want the same thing. From you, professor, they want information. Answers. They want to know what you know – that's why they stole your unpublished manuscript and are probably already exploring these ancient sites, however ham-fisted and indelicate their attempts may be."

She shifted in the seat once again, her eyes reaching Isaiah behind her. "And you, Isaiah, I believe they want you for another reason altogether."

Jack could read the fear in the young man's face.

"I believe they want to kill you."

Shane leaned over and elbowed Isaiah in the side. "Hey, would you look at that? That's what I told you!"

CHAPTER 32

SHANE

It was all Shane could do to not make a comment about Professor Swain's driving. Jack, as he’d introduced himself, seemed to be a well-put-together, gentlemanly type. There was nothing to dislike about him, but there was also nothing to particularly like, in Shane's opinion.

He seemed about as plain as his dress – jeans, a short sleeve button-down shirt, and loafers. Shane wouldn't be surprised if the man had a professor's jacket with elbow patches tucked away in the trunk, either.

But he bit his tongue. First impressions were important, and while he didn't need new friends, he also didn't need to give this man a reason to dislike him. He felt he was also along for the ride – pulled into Natia's world by way of Isaiah.

They drove out of the city toward the Giza Plateau, and Shane couldn't help but feel in awe at the scenery.

The great pyramids were aptly named – he'd never been here before, and it was a bucket list item. Seeing them now underlined their importance in world history, and they certainly fit the name. The second tallest of the three he could see, the Pyramid of Khafre, stood like a beacon above the modern city nearby. Hues of orange seemed to either reflect or soak in the sunlight as it began sinking toward the horizon behind them. They pulled through a commercial district, and he caught sight of the Sphinx lying sentinel, facing the same sun it had faced for millennia.

It was a testament to human ingenuity that people could build such structures. And it was all the more impressive considering the people who had built them hadn't used modern construction equipment or tools.

Maybe it was aliens, he thought.

There was a lull in the conversation, and Shane directed his question toward Natia. "I’ve broken my first rule – I only work alone. Are you going to make me break my second rule as well?"

From the front passenger seat, Natia laughed. "That you don't retrieve people? No, Mr. Riley, I'm not going to ask such a thing of you."

He caught the professor's eyes staring at him from the rearview mirror for a moment before they transitioned back to the road.

"Okay, then. What is it we're looking for exactly? A pyramid? I can't exactly retrieve… you know, one of those." He pointed out to the horizon, at the plateau with pyramids dotting its surface.

Natia smiled. "Of course. I can't expect you – strong as you are – to pick up an entire pyramid." Her words were laced with honey, feigning a flirtatious sound. Either she wasn't good at flirting and thought this weird voice would work, or she was woefully out of practice. Either way, Shane knew not to read too far into it. "No, guys, we’re not going to retrieve a pyramid."

"But we are going to find one," Jack said.

Shane's eyes flicked to the back of his head.

Natia's smile grew. "That's exactly right, professor. What this group is after – what I ultimately am after as well – is a pyramid. But not the pyramid itself. Instead, it's what lies within the pyramid that we want."

“Okay, but… is what lies within it a person?" Shane asked. "Even if it's some old dead Pharaoh, that still counts as a –"

"No. No people of any kind," Natia said. "Your rules will not be broken. At least not that one."

Shane almost let out a sigh of relief but saved it. There was nothing to be relieved about yet.

“So is it an ancient artifact?" Isaiah asked. "Something they believe I will prevent them from finding? I don't understand why they would want to kill me for something like that."

Natia smiled again, but this time it was a strange, serious expression. Her enigmatic demeanor shifted in a moment, as if she were an onion, slowly peeling back layers as they questioned her. "No, it's not that simple. It's more about what you represent," she said.

Isaiah frowned, and Shane couldn't help but feel his confusion as well.

"So this is a religious group?" Professor Swain asked. "Some sort of historic society?"

"Both… and neither. The Order of Ascension is really more like a cult, though one that can't quite decide how it wants to portray itself. It's not very old – founded by a family, two siblings, only a few decades ago, from what I gather – but they like to incorporate history and mythology into their belief system. It's quite loose at that, which is why it's been so hard for me to track them down. They like to invoke Greek gods, Egyptian pharaohs, and general conspiracy theories as part of their interwoven history."

"But it's all made up?" Shane asked.

She shook her head. "Not made up, no. They're pulling from real history, and there may be one or two ties to that history in the cult’s makeup. But it's more like a tapestry of interconnected stories, some historically accurate, some less so. It's as if the people who started the group needed to put something on the 'about' page of their website, so they pulled at threads and weaved together enough to make the group sound interesting."

"Why not just state what it is they believe, succinctly and simply?" Jack asked.

"That I don't know," Natia answered. "But I suspect it has something to do with their true beliefs being far enough out in left field that they don't want anyone to know them. Making up the history of an organization is fun for schoolchildren and those who don't want anyone to know their true goals."

"That makes sense," Shane said. "So you think this group actually is after something of importance, but studying them doesn't really clue you in much. Instead, you had to resort to following them around, piecing things together based on their actions, not their words."

She turned and faced Shane. "Precisely."

CHAPTER 33

SHANE

"So here's the working theory," Professor Jack Swain said from the driver’s seat. "In my unpublished manuscript, I hinted at the possible locations of more pyramids."

"More pyramids?" Shane asked. “They haven’t found them all?”

They were still driving east to west, though they had passed the great pyramids on the Giza Plateau and were now heading away from Cairo. Natia had mentioned heading toward an oasis called Bi’r Nahid, but that they wouldn’t be heading north until they met up with a smaller road that would turn north. Shane had never been to Egypt, nor was he a geography buff, so he had to rely on Jack and Natia, hoping they had a good sense of direction and an destination in mind.

"The great pyramids are not the only ones in Egypt," Jack explained. "There are others – monuments standing to honor and remember the pharaohs who built them. Most of them are comparatively small, in differing stages of repair, or have begun to disintegrate. Still others are underground."

"Underground? They built them underground?"

"Underground as in not yet excavated. It seems we keep discovering one every year or so. Sands drift, covering up anything and everything in their path. Yet as the seasons change and weather patterns adjust, these shifting sands also sometimes reveal what they've been covering for millennia. In some cases, it's another ancient site. A place of worship or importance to ancient Egyptians. And every now and then, we find they built a pyramid on that site."

Shane was fascinated, but it wasn't implausible, either. He knew plenty of ancient civilizations built structures – temples, tombs, catacombs. Any decent architect of any generation would want their work to stand the test of time, including the ancient Egyptians. It was no wonder they had built more structures than what is currently known, but it was still quite a revelation.

“I’ve heard there are around 200 that we’ve discovered,” Isaiah said, “but there could be many, many more.”

“Yes,” Jack answered. And no way to know exactly how many we could find. Some of these pyramids aren't even close to the Nile River Valley in Upper or Lower Egypt, which means they’re scattered all throughout the entire country… and beyond. It's a monumental task to run a dig and excavate a site, and an impossible one to try to do it across the entire country."

"But you think you know the location of one of them?" Natia asked. "Not just one – potentially many. That's why we had to hurry here. Professor Swain has been able to link the pyramids of Egypt not just with Orion's belt – the long-standing hypothesis he is challenging – but with that of the Orion constellation itself; at least, the eighteen main points that the Egyptians believed made up the entire constellation."

"And how many stars is that?" Shane asked. He felt as though their escapade in Egypt was now turning into a wild goose chase. Or, more accurately, like finding one grain of sand in a desert.

"What we see from Earth is a collection of stars that make up the shape of what we call Orion – a man wielding a bow and arrow in most myths. But take the belt stars, for example – they're not actually individual stars but rather clusters of stars, their combined power providing their brightness. So, it's not accurate to state that there are exactly X amount of stars making up the constellation, but instead that there are X amount of important star clusters or celestial bodies we reference for the constellation."

Shane rolled his eyes. "Okay, fine. In the interest of being accurate – considering we have to look for that many pyramids – how many celestial bodies make up the pinpoints of Orion's constellation?"

Jack frowned at him, likely sensing Shane’s annoyance, but Natia smiled, as if laughing. “2,000.”

Shane nearly spat. “2,000? I was going to joke that this was like trying to find a needle in a haystack, but now I'm starting to think it's not a joke at all. How are we supposed to drive around and find 2,000 pyramid sites, especially if there aren't any roads or if they've been covered up over time?"

Jack laughed. “No. Eighteen were considered by the ancient Egyptians to make up the entire constellation of Orion. A portion of those eighteen have already been found. The belt stars are represented by the Great Pyramids, of course. And there are a couple of others – some that are well known here. We can look for new information at those places, but considering they are either some of the most popular sites on the planet already or have at the very least been excavated and explored by Egyptologists, it's unlikely we're going to find anything new at those sites.

"So, Natia and I have decided to focus our efforts on the seven remaining star clusters that make up Orion’s body — especially the outermost stars and those that make up his head. Those will be the potentially largest sites. These are the brightest stars in Orion's constellation as well, outside of the belt ones I've already mentioned. If we're going to find actual sites where pyramids have been constructed, it could be any number of sites. But if we’re looking for one important pyramid, I believe it will be one of the seven making up the body of Orion.”

"But we're not just trying to find your pyramid sites, correct?" Isaiah asked. "We're actually trying to find whatever it is the OA is after. Do you have any idea what that might be?"

"Yes, they're looking for one particular pyramid. This is why they stole my research and have been trying to get to me ever since. I included hints about this in my manuscript, but the last piece of the puzzle for me was actually hypothesizing which stars in the Orion constellation are mapped on earth through the construction of pyramids. But as a bonus, I have been trying to find the ultimate prize related to Orion and its earthly representation, Osiris."

Shane felt himself leaning forward in the chair, waiting.

"The final resting place of Osiris himself."

Isaiah’s mouth fell open, and Shane suddenly felt chagrined for not understanding the importance of this revelation.

"As you know," Jack continued, looking in the rearview mirror directly at Shane, "Osiris was the Egyptian god of the underworld. Killed by Set, his brother, his body was cut up into 14 pieces and spread around."

"Pleasant."

Jack smiled. "Quite. The Egyptians, like many other civilizations we know of, seem to have had a fascination with death and dying, especially the gruesome type. The most popular religion on earth, Christianity, takes the cake – the Romans crucified the leader of the Christian cult, Jesus Christ. But they did it in a particularly gruesome way, by showing a crown of thorns on his head, hammering nails through his wrists and ankles, and watching him die of asphyxiation.”

"I've heard the story," Shane said sarcastically. "But that wasn't a myth, right? I mean, we actually have historical records that prove Jesus lived and died."

"Indeed," Jack said. "And that's the point. Much of what we know from myths and legends turns out to be based in reality once we start digging. Historians dismissed Troy forever, up until Schliemann found the ruins of the city."

"I get it," Shane said. "The implication is that while the stories Homer told of the battle of Troy and its fall may not be completely accurate – Achilles wasn't actually immortal save for his heel – there's truth there."

"You know your Greek mythology, I see," Jack said.

Shane shrugged. "I'm not just a good-looking grunt," he said. "Anyway, I think what you're getting at is we've long figured the stories of Osiris to be completely fabricated – myths only. But you're implying these stories were based on reality. Maybe Osiris wasn't some actual deity, but a real person nonetheless. Someone who was brutally murdered and his body spread around."

Jack examined him in the rearview mirror. “That’s exactly what I believe, yes.”

CHAPTER 34

SHANE

"Hold that thought," Natia said, twisting all the way around in the front seat. "We've got company."

Shane immediately steeled himself. He wasn't armed – he hadn't had time to figure out the rules regarding international flights to Cairo, and he half-assumed Natia would have handled that.

"Shane, behind you," she said quickly. "Pull down the middle seat. You can access the trunk from inside."

He let out a breath of relief. Guessed correctly. Apparently, Natia had come prepared. He wasn't sure when she and Jack had gotten to Cairo, but apparently, they had gotten in with enough time to do a little shopping.

He pulled a duffel bag toward him, unzipped it, and found a treasure trove of weaponry. Most everything he could see was European-made, not surprisingly. It seemed she had outfitted for two; he saw two Brügger & Thomet APC subcompact machine guns that fired 9X19 Parabellum rounds, as well as two modified pistols in hip holsters.

He pulled one of the holsters and pistols out and handed it to Natia. Jack continued driving, though Shane noticed he had picked up some speed. He fumbled around with the bag laying between him and Isaiah, but took a moment to look out the back window. It was difficult to see thanks to the angle of the rear windshield of the small sedan, but since they were outside of Cairo now and had turned onto Highway 221, the traffic had become more sparse.

And it was very clear there was someone following.

The car directly behind them was also a sedan, this one matte black. The windows were gently tinted, but he could barely make out the silhouettes of two men – both large, menacing, hunched over in the front seat.

It was impossible to tell if there was another person behind them in the car, but one thing was certain: they were being followed.

He rifled through the bag again, looking for ammunition for the pistols, just as the car behind them sped up, closing the distance to 50 feet.

He grabbed the second pistol and holster and placed it in his lap, then pulled out both subcompact machine guns. The first he handed to Natia, along with a box of ammunition, and followed suit with his own weapon. He loaded a magazine into the subcompact, then rolled his window down.

"Rules of engagement?" he shouted.

"Don't get hasty, Riley," she said with a smirk on her face.

“Just let me know what to do!” he shouted.

She sighed. “They die before we die,” she said. “Those are the rules of engagement.”

"We don't even know for sure they're chasing us!" Jack said, his voice a mix of fear and excitement.

Answering his question, the sound of gunshots peppering the rear windshield caused Shane to duck involuntarily. Only one round pierced, but it sailed through both windshields. Isaiah shouted in surprise, jumping forward before landing and tucking his head as far down as it would go.

Shane gritted his teeth, thankful that they were still far enough behind that the rounds hadn't all made it through. Their own subcompacts wouldn’t pack too much of a punch, but it was far better than nothing and would provide a bit more lead-per-second than the pistols.

He needed to use their relative high ground against these assholes before he lost the chance. As if recognizing the same thing, the sedan lurched forward once again and gained on them.

Natia was shouting orders at Jack, trying to get him to floor the gas pedal, but Shane was still focused on the mercenaries following them. He leaned out the window slightly, pushing the subcompact against the quarter window on his side for whatever support it would provide, then fired a short burst.

The rounds flew wide.

His first attempt at taking out their pursuers had failed. The adrenaline coursing through his veins made it difficult to aim steadily, but he knew he had to get it right the next time. The black sedan was now close enough that Shane could see the grim determination on the faces of the men inside. One of them had rolled down his window and was leaning out, aiming a handgun directly at them.

"Jack, serpentine!" Natia yelled. Jack immediately began weaving the car back and forth across the highway, making it a harder target to hit. The sudden movement threw Shane off balance, but he quickly adjusted, bracing himself against the seat as best he could.

He took a deep breath, steadied his aim, and fired another burst. This time, the bullets hit their mark, shattering the front passenger window of the pursuing car. The man aiming the gun was struck, and his weapon clattered out of his hand and onto the road.

"Nice shot!" Natia shouted, her eyes gleaming with approval.

Shane didn't have time to celebrate. The man he’d hit wasn’t dead, but he was clearly engaged. He grabbed at something, lifting another weapon a moment later. The driver seemed completely unfazed by the cracks across his windshield, and was now driving more aggressively, swerving through traffic in a desperate attempt to catch up. Shane could see the determination in the driver's eyes – this was a man on a mission, and he wasn't going to give up easily.

"We need to lose them," Shane muttered, more to himself than to anyone else. He turned his attention back to the duffel bag, searching for anything that might give them an edge. His fingers closed around a small, cylindrical object – a smoke grenade.

"Natia, catch!" he yelled, tossing the grenade to her. She caught it effortlessly, a grin spreading across her face as she understood his plan.

She pulled the pin and tossed the grenade out the window. A thick plume of smoke billowed out behind them, quickly enveloping the highway and obscuring the vision of their pursuers. The black sedan swerved wildly as the driver struggled to see through the smoke.

Jack took advantage of the confusion, accelerating and weaving through the sparse traffic with renewed urgency. They were putting distance between themselves and the mercenaries, but Shane knew it wouldn't last long.

They needed a more permanent solution.

CHAPTER 35

SHANE

The cultist counterpart to Shane leaned out the passenger side window of the sedan behind. A car passed going the opposite direction just then, and Shane involuntarily ducked as it blew past his head. He recalled someone telling him once that Egyptian drivers could be crazy – he really hoped they could keep it together for the next few minutes.

Yet swerving cars and out-of-control drivers were currently the least of his concerns. The mercenary leaned farther out the window and pulled up a similar-looking subcompact.

Apparently, mercenaries and hitmen shopped at the same places.

He ducked again as the second barrage of gunfire peppered the back of their sedan. Jack jerked the wheel, drifting into oncoming traffic for a second, then swerved back. He heard Natia shouting something at him, his muffled reply drowned out by the wind whipping around Shane's ears.

He yanked on his seatbelt and let it ratchet back in, now locked, and used it by wrapping his wrist around a few times. It would have to be good enough – the mercenary was retargeting them, fighting against his own driver's erratic motions.

Shane let out a breath, lifted his gun, and fired.

Two of the shots glanced off the sedan's windshield, but one hit the mercenary's weapon. He didn't drop it, but it did cause him to pause and reconsider. He shrunk backward a bit, trying to get behind the relative cover of the cracked windshield.

But Shane reacted quicker. He fired again, this time joined by Natia's own rifle as she leaned out the passenger side window upfront, and one of their bullets connected.

He saw a flash of red, a spraying mist, and the mercenary lurched backward. The gun fell, clattering to the asphalt, his upper body now drooped halfway out the window.

One down, one to go, Shane thought.

He adjusted his aim and focused on the driver, who had glanced over to see if his friend was still with him.

Shane fired, but all three of the single burst went wide. He fired again, then once more, taking out the side mirror and landing one in the grill on the front of the car.

Undeterred, the driver sped up, his dead friend flopping back and forth against the top of the open window. The sedan flew forward just as Jack applied a bit of brake pressure for some reason. Shane didn't bother looking behind them to see what Jack was hesitant about – he kept his eyes fixed on the driver.

He winced as the car behind grew close enough to bump them.

At the same moment, Jack slammed his foot down hard on the gas pedal, nearly snapping Shane's neck as they accelerated. The car behind them missed, but the driver hadn't let up. Their speeds now matched, but the driver was slowly closing the 5-foot gap.

Natia fired a few more rounds, and Shane realized they were perfectly placed, all of them glancing off the windshield directly in front of the driver's face. He saw the man gape, flinging his head to the side as if trying to dodge the rounds, but never losing track of his quarry or the vehicle.

Shane was about to fire again when the driver suddenly flew out into the left lane. This time, Shane glanced behind him and saw that there was no traffic coming in this direction. It was an open stretch of highway, flat, with nothing but desert on both sides. They were well out of Cairo now, heading southwest, and not knowing the area, he wondered if the road would continue this way for 100 miles. If that were the case, the mercenary chasing them would have all the time in the world to run them down and off the road.

At the speed they were going, not buckled, Shane didn't want to see the effects of that. He twisted, letting out some of the seatbelt only to have it automatically retract further. He pulled himself perpendicular to the seat, his knees on the seat itself. The car playing chase was nearly on them, the driver doing a fine job matching the speed and inching forward. Shane fired when he caught sight of the man's head. The driver pulled the car gently to the right, closing the distance but also putting the dead mercenary between the end of his gun and the driver. Another splash of red flew upward, some bits of blood landing on Shane's face.

He recoiled in disgust, spitting as he felt the liquid hit his lip.

"Come on," he muttered.

Natia was basically useless now, not wanting to fire through Jack's closed window over his lap – which would surely end in disaster, even if she didn't shoot him. The man was untrained, unprepared for this sort of thing. To be fair, Shane was feeling out of his element as well, but at least he had a weapon and knew how to use it.

He tried readjusting to get a better shot at the driver, but it seemed the man knew exactly what Shane was trying. He kept his dead counterpart as a human shield between himself and Shane, all the while matching Jack's pace.

Shane knew in an instant what was coming next.

In a flash, the driver yanked the wheel to the right and hit the brakes.

Shane launched himself backward into the car, keeping his wrist tight around what was left of the slack in the seatbelt. Isaiah had his hands over his ears, crouched in the space between the front seat and the back. Shane didn't realize he'd taken his seatbelt off, but it was too late to do anything about it now.

The second sedan hit theirs, hard. It was a perfect shot, meant to cause Jack to spin out of control – and it worked.

Jack yelped in surprise as the impact and sudden centrifugal force sent everyone spinning the opposite direction, the car's rear end flying outward and around. In an instant, they were perpendicular to the road, then facing back the way they came, then perpendicular the opposite way, looking out over the desert.

But, miraculously, all four tires stayed on the road. Shane held his breath, gripping the seatbelt and the gun as he flopped about wildly in the backseat. He tried to let himself go limp, to become a rag doll until the worst was over.

They had slowed markedly during the spin, and when Shane opened his eyes, he saw that they were still moving, Jack still holding the wheel, albeit with only a single hand.

The car was facing the same direction they'd been traveling all along, having completed two full rotations before righting itself once more.

Shane's mouth fell open in disbelief. He made a mental note to check into the make and model of this vehicle and see how much they cost when and if he got to return home.

Jack stepped on the pedal again, sending the car forward as if testing it. It performed flawlessly, as if the impact hadn't even happened. If there was an alignment issue on the rear tire where the other sedan had impacted, Shane couldn't tell.

He let out the breath he'd been holding and looked out the window.

That was his mistake – thinking they were in the clear.

Apparently, the mercenary chasing them had also rented a fine vehicle today. He was ahead of them about 100 yards, having recovered and sped up as they spun out, at some point swinging around them.

But he saw brake lights there as well.

The chase wasn't over yet – not by a long shot.

CHAPTER 36

JACK

"Jack, turn here."

Jack gripped the steering wheel tighter but didn't turn.

"Jack, turn –"

"Where?" Jack's voice rang out, louder than Shane had expected. "There's no –"

"Behind that rock!" Shane and Natia shouted in unison.

He frowned, keeping the sedan up ahead in sight. He dared a quick glance in the rearview mirror to see Shane looking back at him, his eyes pleading. Apparently, he and Natia were perfectly in sync. How was that possible? Both of them seemed to come to the same conclusion at the same time? Both of them were trained for this sort of thing, after all.

Yeah, that was it, he thought. They’re perfect for each other. Both of these people were killers – mercenaries. Guns for hire, much like the man who was still –

"Jack!" Natia shouted.

He winced, then slowed.

"No, don't slow down. Hit the turn. The car can handle it."

He didn't understand the plan, but the rock was approaching fast. It was a boulder, one that looked as out of place here as the highway itself did in the desert they were driving through. He assumed it must've been some sort of landscaping rock, moved here by whoever owned the land.

He did as instructed, yanking the wheel hard to the right as he passed the rock. Suddenly, he saw a road – dirt, bumpy as hell, but an unmarked road nonetheless. It seemed they had taken their pursuer by surprise – the man had slowed almost to a crawl, waiting for their car to catch up. Apparently, he knew they wouldn't turn back and head to Cairo. The mercenary wanted them dead but likely had orders to also see where they were going, if possible. Perhaps the plan had been to stop them, kill Shane and the others, and take Jack alive, as he was the one they seemed to be after.

None of that mattered now. He thought no more of how Shane and Natia seemed to be one step ahead even in a confusing situation like this and focused on the task at hand. He had inadvertently become the getaway driver in this mad heist, and though he was untrained for every aspect of it, he would do his best to keep them alive. It wasn't like they had time to stop, get out of the car, and have someone switch places with him.

The dirt road was incredibly bumpy compared to the highway, but he found he could narrowly miss the bigger potholes that might cause damage to the car and keep his speed up by sort of flying over the smaller ones. He put a couple of football fields of space between the highway and their car, glad their sedan had survived the impact from the mercenary earlier. He knew the man would continue the chase, the dead mercenary hanging out the window the entire time, like some sort of sadistic real-life version of Mad Max.

He hoped Shane and Natia's mind-meld plan involved more than just turning right after sighting a rock.

If there was such a plan, no one spoke about it. He glanced back at Isaiah, who had returned to his seat after spinning out, and found that the kid had buckled himself and was holding the seatbelt with one hand and the handle above his head with the other. He noticed the kid's fingers were white as he gripped the handle tightly, and his eyes faced dead forward.

Jack was scared, but it was likely nothing compared to what this kid was feeling. He knew from Natia's explanation Isaiah was just a student, barely into his 20s, and judging by the expression on his face, had never seen anything like this before – and certainly had never been a part of it.

He felt like he was in a Mission Impossible movie. Racing across the desert, full tilt, in a rental car that had already been through hell, with people he barely knew, trying to outrun others who wanted them all dead.

It was insane.

"There's a small town coming up," Natia said. He glanced over and saw she had her phone out, the maps app open. "We won't stop there, but we can at least change direction. There's another road heading east, but it loops back. You can catch another right turn and head back down 221. We'll backtrack, but the guy behind us knows which direction we're trying to head, so he likely won't think we've doubled back."

"Or that's exactly what he'll think," Shane remarked. "In which case maybe we should stop. We can at least stand to get some gas, right Jack?"

Shane met his eyes in the rearview mirror. "Actually," Jack said, looking down at his dashboard, "we're doing fine on gas."

Shane rolled his eyes. "Okay, then I can use a Tim Tam."

"The hell's a Tim Tam?" Jack asked, as he dodged a massive pothole that stretched more than halfway across the dirt road. "A tampon or something?"

Shane shot him a glance that suggested it was very much not a tampon, but he didn't answer.

"Actually, that's not a bad idea," Natia said. "We can use the opportunity to top off both the gas tank and our stomachs. Adrenaline has a way of depleting your energy."

Jack decided to take her word for it. In truth, he was famished. He knew they wouldn't have time to stop at a nice local restaurant and have a sit-down meal, but a candy bar or some chips would be welcome.

The town crept into view in the distance, due north, and Jack also saw a car cresting the horizon behind them.

The mercenary.

Their path would be easy to follow – they were kicking up huge clouds of dust as they drove, and Jack eased the car a bit faster. He didn't dare look at the speedometer – it was fast enough, and any faster made him feel like the sedan would suddenly remember it had been in a high-speed collision and spin out, and every nut and bolt holding it together would fall out.

He focused on the town — if he could even call it that — watching first small huts and tents, and then a few buildings come into view. Farms stretched left and right, or what he assumed were farms. They looked nothing like farms back home, considering these were covered with sand and dust. Goats and chickens stood corralled behind a fence to the left, and he saw two men on camels walking parallel to their dirt road toward the town.

A different world.

Natia guided him down the main corridor through the town, one whose name he couldn't pronounce if he tried. He saw signs on one of the buildings marking some sort of commercial enterprise, but they were all in Arabic, a language he knew next to nothing about, save for a few specific queries he searched for in odd papers every now and then.

As an academic historian, he felt bad not knowing a bit more about this place, but he'd only been to Egypt long ago, and almost everyone he interacted with in Cairo spoke English well enough he hadn't bothered to learn their language. The mercenary was racing to catch up, but their sedans were basically the same make and model, with the same size engine. The mercenary might have had a bit of an edge over them, considering he was by himself in the car, but the added weight of the dead body in the passenger seat almost nullified that.

CHAPTER 37

SHANE

Natia’s plan had worked flawlessly – so far. Shane knew things could change in an instant, and often did in tense situations. Humans were unpredictable, especially when engaged in battle.

This wasn't an active battle, but it was still a fight. The mercenaries, or members of the crazy cult Natia had been following, wanted them dead. Professor Jack Swain, they wanted alive. That meant the longer Shane and the others were able to stay ahead of the group, the more desperate – and unpredictable – they would become.

They'd stopped briefly, exactly as planned – finding a single-pump petrol station a couple of blocks off the road they had come in on. Jack and Isaiah had stayed with the car while Shane and Natia went inside. There was a single chest cooler of beverages inside, and a small rack of chips that had expired a few years prior. Surprisingly, Shane had found a six-pack of a ginger beer brand he'd never seen before. They weren't sold in singles, but he had never met a ginger beer he didn't like enough to drink six of them.

He was halfway through the first – finding it crisper and sharper than he'd expected – and they were once again on the road.

They'd driven out of the city and followed the route Natia had planned for them, eventually ending up back on 221. A half-hour passed and they crossed the point where their spin-out had occurred, and Shane saw the boulder passing by on the right once again. It felt like déjà vu, and while he hated to backtrack like this, it was all for the best, considering they hadn't seen the mercenaries and their sedan.

Shane wondered what the man would do with his dead counterpart. Would he have stopped before getting to the town to drop off the dead body somewhere? Would he simply pull the man back inside so he wouldn't cause alarm or attract attention?

Shane didn't care much, but he hoped the man ran into trouble because of it. Parading a corpse out an open window might not be illegal, but it would surely attract attention from local law enforcement.

Next to him, Isaiah was sleeping. Natia and Jack had been discussing something quietly for the better part of an hour – something to do with the talk Jack had given just over a day ago at the university. It had ended in some excitement, but Shane couldn't hear their conversation.

So he took the two-hour journey to try and relax, to rest his mind. He couldn't fall asleep – there was too much at stake, and his adrenaline was still pumping. But it might be the only rest he could get for a while, so he took advantage of it.

Jack turned off the road finally, following a smaller one to the north. After an eternity of driving and endless dunes out both windows, he pointed. "There it is," the professor said.

"You've been here before?" Shane asked.

He shook his head. "No, but it's the site I identified as a possibility. Natia confirmed there was a road that would get close, and it also happens to be the closest possible location to Cairo."

Shane rolled his eyes. "You mean we've got even more hours-long journeys ahead of us? I'm not sure our little rental can take any more spin-outs or collisions."

"Once I'm able to see the site, I'll be able to assess its potential as the location of the Osiris pyramid. It's hard when we don't know exactly what we're looking for, but I feel like I'll know it when I see it."

Shane considered rolling his eyes again but didn't want to set off the professor. In truth, he was out of his element here. He was neither an archaeologist nor a historian. While he had an interest in the great pyramids, his understanding of Egyptology and its vibrant history consisted of movies and a few books he had read over the years.

"Well, it doesn't look like there's a pyramid here," Shane said.

They approached the site Jack had pointed to, and though it was mostly hidden behind a large, flat mound about 500 yards away, Shane could see a couple of vehicles parked on a stretch of dirt that had to be the road, a rectangular strip connecting the mound to the road they were on now.

"It could be underground.”

"They built pyramids underground?" Shane asked.

"No, the Egyptians built them on the surface, but sometimes in places that were lower than the land around them. Over time, sand would pile up in these low spots, filling the indentation in the ground, making it look as if it were flat all the way across. Basically, geologic features like that mound in front of us could actually be hiding a structure, worn down over time and piled on by sand and rocks.

“In fact, this is common in other parts of the world, too. I was in Mexico once, down in the Yucatán. I stood on top of one of their old buildings – a pyramid as well. The guide I was with showed me the vast expanse of land around us, nothing but an endless expanse of rainforest, green in all directions. There were little mounds everywhere, more than I could count.”

Jack paused, ensuring everyone was listening.

"He asked me if I saw the mounds, and I said I did. He told me then that each one of those mounds was a structure. The Yucatán is almost perfectly flat, so each of those mounds was a structure built by the Maya long ago. The government did not have the resources to fund that many excavations, so they lay beneath the rainforest trees, waiting to be rediscovered."

"Good story," Shane said. "But I seriously hope we don't have to dig through miles of sand and look inside every dune. I didn't bring a shovel, and I'm not that much for digging."

"With luck, we'll be able to see signs of architecture, buildings, or at least indications there were some in these sites in the past.”

Jack paused again, then met Shane’s eyes once more.

“But I also have a shovel.”

CHAPTER 38

SHANE

"What's going on here?" Jack asked.

Shane looked through the windshield as Jack slowed the car to a crawl. Up ahead, just past the large mound they had been discussing, Shane could see remnants of a dig site. Three cars were parked off this dirt road, and a collapsed tent lay in front of them. It was hard to tell exactly what each was, but Shane saw individual objects, likely tools of some sort. He noticed a wheelbarrow upturned, lying about 20 feet beyond.

But what had caught their attention was the blockade set up on the road. Two police cars sat parked diagonally across the road, facing them. The lights were on, and officers were standing just beyond, conversing.

Another police car sat near the camp, nearly hidden behind the mound as their car slowly rounded the turn.

The entire scene came into view then. The dirt road they'd been traveling on was blocked by the police cars, and 500 feet beyond that the rest of the camp and excavation site could be seen. Shane noticed large swaths of land that had been cut into, rectangular holes in the ground traced off with gridlines of string. More tools were scattered about, almost haphazardly. Wheelbarrows, shovels, even buckets of sand, as if someone had just started trying to empty the desert like it was a bathtub with a hole in it.

“Still doesn't seem to be a pyramid here," Shane grumbled.

Jack clenched his jaw but didn't speak. Natia, instead, turned to address them. "Turn around. We can't be –"

Her voice was cut off by the sound of a siren from one of the police cars. An officer had leaned in the open window and squawked at them, clearly signaling for them to stop. Another officer was walking toward the driver’s side of his own vehicle.

"This is definitely the site," Jack said softly. "But this isn't right. Something happened here."

Shane squinted, trying to see the dusty ground in the distance, near the collapsed tent. It looked like someone had drawn lines on the ground there, shapes.

But what were they?

Jack stopped the car, putting it into reverse.

"Hold on," Shane said. "We can't just turn around. They're going to chase us, and I've had enough car chases for the day."

"We can't just stay here, Shane," Natia snapped. "What if they search the car?"

"Good point," Shane said, glancing down at the subcompact he still carried on his lap. He took his weapon and shoved it through the still-open hold between the seats, back into the trunk. He reached out, waiting for Natia to hand him her own weapons.

She stared at him for a long moment as the police squad car approached, climbing over the last rise in front of the massive mound they were now parked in front of. Finally, she obliged.

He stuffed the weapons into the trunk, for the first time noticing the folding shovel Jack had stashed inside, and lifted the seat just as the officer pulled up next to Jack, rolling his window down.

The officer said something in Arabic, and after a few seconds, repeated it in English. "Why are you here?"

Shane watched Jack swallow, then offer a smile. "We're sorry – we're just tourists. I'm actually a professor, from a university –"

"Why are you here?" the officer repeated.

Jack swallowed again. "Sorry, we didn't mean to intrude. We were just turning around. We thought this was the dig site."

Shane glanced out at the tent, the strange lines depicting odd shapes near it. The rectangular holes dotting the landscape, almost all the way to the horizon. He was glad for Jack's quick thinking, but was even more glad the man was an actual professor, a real archaeologist. In case this officer decided to get fussy and look him up, his story would check out.

"How did you know about this dig site?" the officer asked. His voice was harsh, and Shane couldn't tell if it was due to his staccato, broken English or because they had stumbled somewhere they shouldn't be, and the man was growing more suspicious.

"A friend," Professor Swain said, leaning into the words, acting confused. "An acquaintance of mine. He mentioned it in passing, and I was in the country. Just thought I would pop over, check it out."

The officer stared at him intently, and Jack shrugged.

"I'm an archaeology professor, I can't really help it. When in Rome, you know?"

At this, the police officer cocked his head to the side. Apparently the phrase was not as popular outside of America, and perhaps Rome. "And you?" he asked, motioning with his head toward Natia and Shane. If he saw Isaiah, he didn't bother lingering. Apparently, Egyptians could pinpoint other Egyptians in an instant, and Isaiah's presence here was not suspicious to him.

"They're with me," Jack said. "This is Cynthia Venetucci, a research assistant of mine, and that's Diego Lafayette. He's more, well, security, basically."

"Security?" the police officer spat. He eyed Shane through his closed window. Shane let him glare, not offering anything in his expression that would cause the police officer to wonder if Jack was telling the truth.

"Again, I apologize – I didn't know there was something... happening here. I really just wanted to see the site. It's been so many years since I've been in the field, on an actual dig." He looked out the windshield again, letting out a long, deep sigh.

Man, he is a pretty good actor, Shane thought.

Motion caught Shane's eye once again, and he noticed a car appearing from down below, around the far side of the sloping mound. It was not a police car, nor was it one of the cars parked next to what had been the camp. This one was a long, black sedan. It didn't look European, either. It seemed to Shane it was an American-made vehicle, perhaps a Lincoln Town Car or something similar.

He glanced back, watching Natia's face. She was staring intently at the car as well, though her face betrayed no emotion.

The police officer leaned back in his own car, pulled up the radio, and barked something in Arabic.

Shane felt his pulse quicken. The new vehicle was approaching fast, moving past the second squad car in a blur.

He heard the man's radio return something in Arabic, and he examined the police officer's face for any signs of what was to come.

He hoped he had made the right call telling Jack to stop.

Had he seen this black sedan – clearly carrying someone important – he may have reconsidered.

CHAPTER 39

SHANE

They waited in their rental car for what seemed like an eternity. In reality, about 10 minutes passed. Still far too long for Shane to feel comfortable. Something was going on—something had happened here.

He looked again at the lines in the distance. He wanted to get out, to walk up the mound a bit so he could see down into the lower section where the camp had been struck, where the excavation had taken place. As he looked, he imagined what the excavation had been like when it was active. He pictured scores of workers digging, cleaning, dumping. Archaeologists walking the grounds, taking notes, and identifying anything of value, of historic worth.

The police officer was still in his squad car, but the second officer had driven up behind the black sedan. A window in the back seat of the black sedan had been cracked, and the police officer was leaning down toward it, his back to Shane and the others.

Whatever they were discussing, it had to do with Shane’s group. There’s no way he would be recognized—unlike Natia, he didn’t have much of a reputation in the international community. But he doubted they were curious about Natia, either. She hadn’t become so good at her job by being complacent. Though she wore no disguise, Shane was sure her face did not appear in any national databases. There was no reason to suspect this group—the police or even government group in the car, whoever they were—would know who she was.

Was it Isaiah, then? The police officer had barely glanced at the young guy in the backseat next to Shane, but perhaps it was enough to tip off the officer that they had valuable cargo on board. Perhaps Isaiah triggered something.

Shane shook his head, silently watching the proceedings and the excavation site in the distance as he considered their options. No one else spoke, the tension in the car palpable. Shane didn’t doubt they could take down these men, including whoever might be inside the black sedan. The officers were armed with pistols, while Shane and Natia had subcompact assault rifles. They had enough rounds to get the job done, and Jack could keep them moving. Though not a trained driver, it wouldn’t take much to make it difficult for the officers to get off a shot at them.

But Shane wasn’t in the business of murdering innocent police officers. Sure, the guy who’d approached their window might have seemed annoyed, rude even, but that didn’t mean they had to shoot first and ask questions later. That didn’t mean they had to escalate things to that level.

But what else could they do? He was equally sure they couldn’t escape by driving away. First, they’d have to turn the rest of the way around, while all three of the other cars were already facing back in the direction they came from. Besides, Jack had already been in one high-speed chase today and Shane doubted his mind and body would allow him to engage in another.

So, as frustrating as it was, Shane knew the only option was to wait. Hope. To assume that the officers and people in the sedan were just being diligent, just checking boxes and making sure they didn’t let a suspect of whatever happened here get away.

He glanced again at the white lines, turning his head sideways, as if trying to lay them out flat side-by-side in his mind’s eye. Suddenly, one of the shapes came into view, like sand had rushed and blown off of the earth, revealing more of the pattern.

It was the shape of a human body.

Shane frowned. Obviously, it was not part of the excavation—the men and women working here would not have drawn shapes on the sand, nor would ancient Egyptians have painted pictures left by people from a different time that stood up against the elements.

It meant they were fresh, but neither the excavators nor the people whose ancient homes they were excavating painted them.

A thought snapped into his mind. “Those white lines back there—one of them looks like the shape of a body. Do police officers still paint shapes of bodies in a murder investigation?”

Jack shrugged, and Natia rolled her eyes. “Only in TV shows,” she said.

“Yeah…”

All three sets of eyes in the car swiveled to face Shane. “What are you thinking?” Isaiah asked.

He chewed his lip for a moment, squinting through one eye. “Well, sure seems like that’s what those are. The archaeologists here wouldn’t have had a need to do that, nor would any of the workers. But there are police, and now we know there’s some other entity as well—the people in the black car. It’s a lot of attention for a dig site that isn’t even active.”

“What’s your point?” Natia said.

“Well, it seems like this could be a murder investigation. It would tell us why we’re being so heavily scrutinized over there.”

Just then, the police officer pulled away from the window and Shane saw it roll the rest of the way up. The officer joined his counterpart, leaning through the man’s open window and discussing something. Another minute passed, and the police officer returned to Jack’s side. “You may go. Do not return.”

Shane listened as Jack thanked the officer profusely, apologizing and telling him they wouldn’t dream of returning. The officer could not care less for his apology, turning on his heel and walking back to the other police car.

As Jack drove away, Shane turned around in the seat, hoping to catch a glimpse of the site once more as they drove slightly uphill.

Sure enough, the higher ground helped him see what was on the ground down below.

It was the shape of human bodies—six of them, arranged haphazardly around the area where the tent would have been erected.

This is a murder site, he realized. Those people were killed—the workers at the dig site?

He turned back around. “We need to figure out what happened here,” he said.

Natia had apparently come to see his point of view, agreeing as she nodded. “I don’t have service now, but I will soon. If you’re right—that this was some sort of murder, it could be the Order of Ascension. Maybe they got here before we did.”

“Who else could it be?” Shane asked. “And that’s a problem, right? We thought they were following us because we would lead them to all the sites. But it seems like they’ve got a bit more knowledge of the situation than we thought. Jack, you need to step on it. Wherever this next place is you want to find, we really need to hurry.”

“That’s not the biggest problem we’ve got,” Natia said softly.

Shane eyed Isaiah next to him, who was staring up at the ceiling of the sedan, as if to say, ‘are you serious?’

“Whoever was in that sedan was government. Ministry of Antiquities, perhaps. They’re all over sites like this, especially if there was foul play. They don’t take lightly to foreigners coming in and snooping around looking for treasure, which is probably why we were scrutinized. But now our car—and faces—are known to them. They’re going to be following us, I can guarantee it.”

“You telling me they’re going to chase us?” Jack asked.

She shook her head. “Not likely. But they don’t need to. They’ve got spies, government employees, even military sections at their disposal. If we weren’t on their watchlist before, we certainly are now.”

Shane let out a breath. “Yeah, that does sound like a problem.”

CHAPTER 40

SHANE

Shane hadn't realized he'd fallen asleep until he awoke with a start. He looked up, groaning as he twisted his neck. He was still in the backseat of the rental car, and they'd been driving for a while apparently.

"How long has it been?" Shane asked to no one in particular.

"Since we left the first site, or since you fell asleep?" Jack asked.

"Since we left the site?"

"About two and a half hours."

"And how long have I been sleeping?" he asked.

Natia turned and looked at him, smiling. "About two hours and 29 minutes."

He smiled back at her, cracking his neck and twisting in his seat to let his spine find a more comfortable position. It cracked, but he didn't feel better. He was far too large to be cooped up in the backseat of a tiny sedan for this long. He needed to stretch his legs.

He needed… “I need to pee."

"Good news, we're almost there," Jack said. "This is the second site on my list. The first one obviously was a bust, but it was pretty low on my list of possibilities anyway. It just happened to be the closest one to Cairo International, so I wanted to check it out. We've been driving almost due south, and we should be coming up to the next potential site in a minute."

Shane didn't care for the professor's theories at the moment. "And I can pee at this site?"

"You can pee wherever you want," Natia said. "But if you're feeling sensitive, we can all look the other way."

Jack snickered, and Shane growled in response. He was getting tired of being chased around a country he wasn't familiar with, in a car with people he wasn't familiar with, trying to find a pyramid he wasn't familiar with.

A pyramid that probably didn't even exist.

"So the working theory is the Order killed everyone at that dig site, trying to poke around and get a head start. That about right?"

Natia and Jack exchanged a glance that told him they'd already discussed this at length while Shane had been sleeping. Isaiah was looking out the window, likely pretending he didn't care one way or another.

"That's the working theory, yes. I was able to find a news article mentioning the deaths of six researchers and workmen back at that site. There were two more on the operation, but they didn't show up for work the day the others were attacked."

"Suspects?" Shane asked.

Natia nodded. "That's what the article implied. But it also seems to place a lot of doubt on that. But I have reason to doubt the people were involved. The group we're after is ruthless, but they don't seem to be particularly careful. I'd suspect they just showed up at the site last minute, killed everyone they found, and didn't bother to do their homework on anyone who might not actually be at the site."

"And it could work in the group's favor," Isaiah added. "They'll send the police in the wrong direction, interrogating the two poor souls who had nothing to do with it."

Shane nodded along. Apparently, the other three had engaged in quite a lively conversation while he had been passed out. Nevertheless, while his back and neck would need a bit of coaxing to come back to life, he did feel more rested than he had in the last 24 hours.

The sun was arcing down in the west—long shadows being cast over the dunes they passed. It was dusk, but he felt like he'd been in Egypt for a week, not just a matter of hours.

"You said this was the second-best option on your list," Shane said. "Why not just go right to the top?"

Jack leaned his head side to side for a moment before responding. "Good question, one I struggled to answer myself. Basically, it's an efficiency thing. While I don't believe this second site is the site of the long-lost pyramid of Osiris, it's on the way to my first choice."

"Makes sense, then," Shane said. "As long as I can pee."

"And while it seems like the first site was fruitless, Professor Swain feels like it only bolsters his theory, only lending it credibility."

"Why's that?"

Swain answered. "When I first developed the theory, it was just that—a theory. No more than a hunch, really. Certainly not a fully fleshed out scientific theory. I hadn't even officially published anything on it. But for the Order to steal my unpublished work, come to the same conclusion as me, and beat us there does make me think I might be onto something."

"Didn't they just intercept the file you uploaded, which contained a list of the possible sites we're visiting now?" Shane asked.

"No, actually," the professor said. "Which is why I believe this helps my theory. I didn't have anything like that included. Instead, it was simply the mention that the Orion Correlation—the original postulated by Robert Bauval back in the 1990s—was incomplete."

Shane raised an eyebrow.

"Basically, the old theory stated that the Orion constellation correlated with the great pyramids of Giza. But what he really meant was that the three pyramids of Giza had been erected to reflect just the three stars or star clusters making up Orion's Belt. The actual constellation is much larger, with many more potential points. This was never thoroughly addressed in the original theory, so I picked up where he left off and ran with it."

"Seems like an obvious thing to me," Shane said. "And I'm not an astronomer or academic researcher. So why would he leave it out in the first place?"

"Good question. I don't think he forgot that Orion was a full constellation, not just three points of light in the sky. After all, it's called Orion's Belt, and one would have to be quite dense to forget that the belt is only a belt because it's on Orion. I think there was something else causing him to ignore the rest of the constellation."

"Which is?" Shane asked, suddenly willing the professor to hurry, as if doing so would allow him to pee sooner.

"Essentially, the distance between the three pyramids perfectly represents the distance between the three belt stars. They're proportionally equal to the constellation. But if you use the same proportions, extrapolating it to the entire constellation and then superimposing that on a map of the Nile and Giza Plateau, it all falls apart."

"Explain."

"Well, basically, the measurements don't work. Orion himself would be much too large. Some of the stars would end up in downtown Cairo, where we know for a fact there is no pyramid, above or below ground."

"So the ancient Egyptians built the three pyramids to represent Orion's Belt, but then built other pyramids to represent Orion, but they didn't use the same scale?"

"Almost," Jack said, in an enigmatic tone. He glanced at Shane through the rearview mirror, and Shane felt like he was in school, waiting for the professor to end the theatrics and get to the point. "I don't think it was an accident, first of all.

“But I think you have it backwards. My theory is not that the great pyramids came first—Orion's Belt. Instead, I believe they built Orion first. All the pyramids that make up the outermost stars of the constellation, working inward until they got to the Giza Plateau and built the last three pyramids."

CHAPTER 41

SHANE

As he listened to the professor’s monologue, Shane watched the rolling hills of sand pass by out the window. They had certainly left the oasis-like vibrancy of Cairo and Giza. While the city was not what Shane would call ‘green,’ it stood in stark contrast to the vast, beige nothingness they were driving through now.

The landscape hadn’t changed since leaving the first archaeological site, and Shane felt how easy it would be to get lost out here. If the sands rolled over the highway they were on, it would be impossible to find again until the winds blew it clean once more.

He shuddered as he thought about it. Desert was one of his least favorite climate zones — there was just nothing attractive about it to him.

From the driver’s seat, Jack continued. “Well, consider that the constellation we call Orion is named and worshiped by the Greeks. They certainly existed at the same time as the ancient Egyptians, but obviously were not the same, with different cultural beliefs, religious beliefs, and so on. So, our understanding of the Egyptians' view of the constellations is heavily dependent on our view of the constellations, as passed down by the Greeks, who did a more thorough job describing them."

Shane raised an eyebrow. "You mean like how the Greeks took what the Egyptians saw and just slapped their own interpretation on it?"

"Exactly," Jack replied. "The Greeks had a knack for systematizing and documenting things, and their version of the constellations is the one that has endured in Western culture. But this version doesn't necessarily reflect how other ancient cultures viewed the night sky."

"Like how some people see the Big Dipper as a spoon, while others see it as a hat?" Shane asked.

Jack smiled. "Not sure I've heard anyone call it a hat, but yes, that's the point. A better example might be the constellation Cygnus, which is literally just four stars in an imperfect square shape. But the ancients saw so much more, an entire elaborate picture based on nothing but these four points in the sky. The point is, what we call the constellation Orion—a hunter holding a bow—was very likely not at all what the Egyptians saw."

"So what did they see when they looked up?" Isaiah asked, suddenly interested.

"What they saw was Sah," Jack said.

Shane cocked his head to the side. “Saw?”

"Sah. S-A-H. A god the Egyptians worshiped. The constellation representing Sah is actually two constellations we recognize today—Orion, and another one beneath it named Lepus. If you draw it out, it looks like the same Orion we recognize, standing atop a curved dais of sorts."

"Got it," Shane said. "So even though we call it Orion, and it's still roughly the shape of a man, holding a bow or something, with a belt, it's not exactly the same thing the Egyptians saw when they looked up at the night sky."

"Precisely," Jack said. "And it's a rather bit of arcane knowledge that finding Sah is a better representation of what the Egyptians were trying to model here on Earth."

Isaiah leaned in, clearly intrigued. "But how does that connect to the pyramids? I mean, if they saw Sah instead of Orion, does it change how we should be interpreting the layout of the pyramids?"

"That's where it gets fascinating," Jack said. "The three pyramids of Giza are commonly thought to represent the belt of Orion. However, if we consider them as part of the constellation Sah, it opens up a different perspective on their arrangement and purpose."

"I understand that," Isaiah said. "But you mentioned how the builders of the pyramids got the belt stars right—that's the pyramids of Khafre, Khufu, and Menkaure—but that the others, the ones that would make up the rest of the Orion—or Sah—constellation weren't in their proper places. At least, if you use the same proportions between the three belt star pyramids and extrapolate that out to where the other pyramids should be."

Jack nodded again. "Yes. Furthermore, I believe these other pyramids were built, and they were built before the Great Pyramid and its counterparts, the other two."

"Wait," Shane interjected. "You're saying there are more pyramids that we haven't found yet, or that they were built earlier and just don't match up with the belt stars?"

"Both," Jack said. "There are plenty of hints in historical texts and lots of physical evidence suggesting that other pyramids were indeed constructed. However, erosion, theft, and destruction over millennia have left us with little to go on. Plus, these earlier pyramids might not have been as grand or as well-preserved as the Giza pyramids."

"So what’s the significance of these other pyramids?" Isaiah asked. "Why does it matter if there are more out there that we haven’t found yet?"

"Think about it," Jack said. "If we can find these other pyramids and establish their connection to the Sah constellation, we could rewrite our understanding of Egyptian civilization. It would show that their astronomical knowledge and architectural accomplishments were even more advanced than we currently believe."

"And what about the timeline?" Shane asked. "How does the dating of these hypothetical pyramids fit into the established history of ancient Egypt?"

"That's another puzzle," Jack admitted. "The mainstream chronology of Egyptian history is based on certain key assumptions and evidence. If we find evidence of these other pyramids and they date back to a period earlier than currently accepted, it would challenge our understanding of the timeline of ancient Egyptian civilization."

Isaiah nodded slowly. "So, essentially, we're talking about a potential shift in how we view not just Egyptian history, but possibly the history of human civilization as a whole."

"Exactly," Jack said. "It’s not just about the pyramids or the constellations. It’s about uncovering the truth of our past and understanding the legacy of one of the greatest civilizations in human history."

The room fell silent as everyone pondered the implications of Jack’s words, the weight of potential discoveries hanging in the air.

CHAPTER 42

SHANE

The town they had just passed through was the smallest Shane had seen yet, and calling it a town was an insult to other towns. He saw a single mud building with two cars parked in front of it, a single pump petrol station, and a few huts set off from the road. There were camels tied to a post at the small petrol station—a stark reminder of how many people around here traveled.

Jack pulled the car through town slowly but didn't stop. "We're still about a mile away," he explained. "This town is really just a stop-off to refill; most people calling this place home live farther out, either on a farm or ranch. But at one point, there was a vibrant city in this nome."

"Nome?" Shane asked.

Isaiah answered for him. "Like a district—Egypt has been split up into nomes for over 5,000 years. Some scholars think the first organization of Egypt happened in the Fifth Dynasty, around 2,500 BC."

"Correct," the professor said, smiling at Isaiah through the rearview mirror as if he were a proud teacher congratulating a student. "And remarkably, many of the nomes haven't changed in that time. The one we are in, as I mentioned, used to have a bustling city. Not huge, but far larger than this town we're passing through. But the reason we're here—the reason this city and nome are still on the map—is the ancient ruins nearby."

Jack pulled off the road and Shane looked out the window. He saw buildings off in the distance—maybe more. Walls, crumbled in different states of ruin. The sun had crept down to just above the horizon, and the ruins were southeast of their location, allowing the sun to cast diagonal shadows over them.

Jack unbuckled his seatbelt and opened the door.

"We're not going to drive over?" Shane asked.

"I thought you were tired of being in the car," Natia said.

"Yeah, but I also don't like walking in sand."

He took a final swig of the second ginger beer from the six pack. He was exaggerating about the amount of sand around—though there was plenty of it, the ground between the car and the ruins was hard-packed dirt, dry and cracked. Pebbles and stones littered the area, while small, cactus-like shrubs popped out wherever they could.

It wasn't the typical postcard-quality desert, with bright dunes and camels walking over them, but this certainly wasn't an oasis, either.

Jack seemed to be reading his mind. "Many of the places here that have ruins were far more lush back then. Not all, but most places at least had tributaries flowing through them, lakes and ponds perhaps. Much more flora and fauna as well. It made living at sites like these possible. As the climate changed and the areas dried up, the cities and towns in these nomes dried up with them."

Shane was out of the car now, joined by Isaiah, who seemed to want to stick by his side.

"Besides," Natia continued, "it's not a long walk. It will be good for you. A little exercise would suit you." She gave Shane a long, slow vertical glance that made him feel vulnerable.

He scowled at her. "I'm perfectly fit, thank you," he said, his Australian accent thick and heavy.

She just laughed, beginning to walk toward the ruins.

"I don't see a pyramid here," Shane said.

"Which is exactly why we're checking," Jack said. "As I mentioned before, many of the sites have been covered by millennia of sand, dirt, and storms. This site is one of them—we already know that. While considered just a small nome with not much in the way of ancient ruins, the site has been known for a while. The building you see now is actually just the top half. The rest of it was covered over time. A few smaller buildings have been found, but none have been excavated."

"And you think there might be a pyramid hiding underneath somewhere?"

Jack shrugged as he began walking next to Natia. "Who's to say? No major digs have happened here, and while we certainly aren't outfitted for one, I've got a shovel and some gloves in the car."

Shane nodded. He'd seen the shovel when he reached back for the duffel bag full of weapons but thought nothing of it. He wasn't excited about the idea of manual labor, but he was happy this trip wasn't a waste—if they found something worth digging into, they at least had the tool for the job.

And he couldn't deny that what Natia told him was true. A little exercise would suit him.

"Anyway, most people assume finding a pyramid is impossible because they are picturing the Great Pyramid of Giza—a pyramid standing over 450 feet tall. However, it's obviously the only one of its kind. For a long time, it was the tallest man-made structure in the world. It's still the tallest pyramid, and even its counterparts on the Giza Plateau are larger than many of the pyramids found in Egypt."

"So we're looking for a baby pyramid that probably got covered up by the passage of time," he said. "Got it."

Jack turned and said something to Natia, and she nodded, suddenly stopping.

She turned and spoke to Shane and Isaiah. "Let's split up. There's not a lot of ground to cover here, but we don't know what we don't know. There could be a lot more to this place if Professor Swain's hypothesis is correct. Isaiah, come with me. Shane, go with Jack and explore that building up ahead. We'll stay outside, poking around and seeing if there's any reason to get the shovel."

Shane was partly relieved he wouldn't have to babysit Isaiah any longer but wasn't exactly looking forward to spending quality time with the professor. He still hadn't decided what to make of the man. He wasn't the academic type and usually didn't get along with folks who were. That said, both Michaela and his late wife Kate had been, and he got along with them quite well.

But on the rare occasion they went out with people from work, Shane rarely wanted to attend. He called them all nerds, including Michaela and Kate, though they were by far the most down-to-earth. Though they were intellectuals, they both had enough of a worldly presence that no one would confuse them for the stuffy, out-of-touch nerds they hung out with.

If he was forced to admit it, Professor Swain seemed much more like Michaela and Kate than the other academics he'd known. Jack had a knack for lecturing, easily being triggered into launching into a spiel about this or that related to ancient Egyptology, but Shane couldn't blame him. They were in his element—literally hunting down something the professor had become an expert in over the course of his academic career.

Shane wondered if he might be the same way had the tables been turned and he found himself leading a group of people interested in talking about guns, special forces ops, and ginger beer.

He shook his head quickly. No, I still wouldn't talk that much.

"Sounds fine to me," Jack said, slapping Shane on his shoulder like they were old pals. "Shouldn't take much time at all, assuming we can still get inside."

"We're going inside… that?" Shane asked.

Isaiah and Natia had already peeled off, heading directly south to start working the perimeter of the ruined site.

Shane didn't see any signs, plaques, anything at all suggesting the Egyptian Ministry of Antiquities or some other government entity had ever been here, surveyed, and made it safe for entry. It wasn't exactly undiscovered, but it was clear no money had been spent on maintaining the integrity of the building they were apparently going to enter.

As they drew closer, he could see the walls were already crumbling, the dried mud or stone they'd been constructed with deteriorating and falling apart over the thousands of years it sat here. That it was still here at all was remarkable, but Shane wondered how well earth itself had done to maintain this place.

Considering it was half underground as Jack had said, it might be able to survive a lot longer.

The building itself was a rectangular shape, long and squat, with a north-south orientation. Its outer walls were sloped inward, much like the beginnings of a pyramid, but the roof was flat.

"This is a mastaba," Jack said.

"Is that a character from The Lion King?"

Jack smirked. "A mastaba is a tomb, usually used for smaller royalty and family. Figures important enough in the nome to warrant their own building, but not important enough for a pyramid to be built for them."

"Only the pharaohs got pyramids?" Shane asked.

"Not all of them, and they weren't used as tombs for the pharaohs," Jack answered. “Pharaohs were usually attached to pyramids by name—Khafre, Khufu, Menkaure, that sort of thing. But that usually meant those pharaohs oversaw the building of that pyramid, but their tombs—where the pharaohs were put after death—are in different places."

Shane chewed his lip. "I actually didn't know that," he said. "Seems even more fascinating, then, why they would find the need to build these massive structures if the guys building them weren't even planning to be buried in them.”

"Fascinating, indeed. It's easy, though, to lump the pharaohs all in together, to assume they all wanted the same things and acted the same way. Of course, a study of any other civilization—the ancient Greeks, the Roman emperors—suggests otherwise. These pharaohs were all individuals with their own desires, wants, artistic expressions. Some were actually great leaders, militaristically or diplomatically. Others were more egotistical—think Nero or Caligula. I like to think some pharaohs did intend on being entombed in the pyramid they built for themselves during their reign, but the truth is we've never found a pharaoh inside one."

"Is that so?"

"It is. But it's rather misleading that we've named response rooms inside the Great Pyramid of Giza, for example, as if we have. When the pyramid was first opened by modern explorers, a large empty sarcophagus-like box was found in one of the rooms. We call that the King's Chamber now, implying that it was where the king would have been entombed, or was at some point. But there is no evidence to suggest that the king—Khufu—was ever buried there."

"And you said we have found pharaohs in other places. So they're clearly building tombs for themselves; they're just not pyramids."

"Exactly."

Shane followed Jack around the east side of the low, flat building. Though it was large enough to be seen from the road, it was much shorter than Shane had thought. He was happy part of it was underground—he didn't like the idea of having to crouch the entire time he was inside.

"Over here," the professor said, waving Shane over.

Shane approached, seeing an indentation cut into the side of the sloping wall. It was very obviously a doorway, but it had been sealed shut. Stones and sand had been piled into the opening, preventing anyone from entering without a bulldozer.

"I don't think we're getting in that way," he said.

"No problem, there's a section of the roof that's collapsed." Shane watched as the older professor, apparently more fit than he appeared, hopped up easily onto the sloping wall, planted his foot halfway up, and marched his body up and onto the top of the mastaba.

"Come on—I wouldn't be surprised if we could find another way in from up here."

Shane squinted in dissatisfaction but wasn't about to let this slightly older man show him up visibly. He placed his hands against the sloping wall, gripped stones, and began climbing. It was harder than it looked, and Shane had to struggle to get his leg up and over onto the roof, but he finally did, stood up, and brushed off his pants.

Jack was waiting for him at the top, looking excited. "I think I found a way in," he said. He turned and walked away from Shane.

Shane followed behind a few paces—if Jack found a dilapidated part of the roof, he wasn't about to follow through with him.

Shane saw the opening ahead of Jack. It was about five feet wide, but only about a foot across. It was no more than a gash, a wound in the roof. Jack walked confidently up to it, crouched down, then pulled a small flashlight out of his pocket. He lay down next to the chasm and shone his flashlight down into it.

"Yes, I think we can get in here," he said.

Shane's eyebrows rose. "You might be able to get in there," he said. "But Natia made it very clear I've got a few extra pounds to lose. Especially around my waistline."

"Nonsense," Jack said, waving it off. "Here, help me get down—it should only be about a six or seven-foot drop—and then I'll guide your feet down once I'm in."

Shane rolled his eyes. How could he argue now? He wasn't about to let this man fall into a crack and get injured because Shane was too afraid to follow. What would Natia say to that?

He lay down as Jack lowered himself into the crack. When the professor was in to his waist, Jack reached out for Shane's hand. Shane grabbed his wrist, and Jack his, and Shane helped lower the man carefully down.

"Okay, let's go," Jack said. "I'm good."

Shane did as instructed and released his grip on the man's wrist. Jack disappeared immediately, sliding the rest of the way into the crevasse and down. Shane heard a loud thump as the body hit the rock floor far below.

From inside the old tomb, Shane heard the echo of the man’s pained scream.

"Oh my God!"

CHAPTER 43

NATIA

"What exactly are we looking for?" Isaiah asked.

Natia walked side-by-side with Isaiah, the short, squat rectangular building about 100 yards away. The sun was still descending, though it was growing closer to the roof of the ancient tomb.

"If I'm honest, I don't expect either of us to find anything."

Isaiah arched an eyebrow.

"I was hoping Professor Swain and Jack could figure out how to put their differences aside and work together."

"They don't like each other?" Isaiah asked.

Natia wondered if the kid was dense or naïve, or perhaps both. She rolled her eyes but didn't let him see it. "I'm giving Jack space to figure out if this is actually one of the sites represented in his correlation hypothesis. I have no reason to suspect it's not, but I don't know anything about this stuff. You know a little more, but Jack's the expert. By all means, if you want to contribute…"

She could tell her words pained the younger man, but she didn't have time to pander to his feelings.

"Look, I'm not trying to be rude," she said. "But you know by now the stakes are life-and-death. These guys want you dead, and⁠—"

"Why?" he asked, his voice rising. "It's obvious to me—it's been made obvious to me over and over again, since I crashed into that bar and found Mr. Riley. But no one's actually given me a good explanation for any of this. Why you reached out to me, then had me find Shane. Why these assholes are trying to kill me. None of it makes any sense."

Natia stopped walking, waiting for Isaiah to halt next to her. When he did, she turned and faced him directly. She put her hands on his shoulders, feeling motherly for a moment before removing them and crossing them instead. "Honestly? I don't really know. This group—the Order of Ascension, or whatever the hell they call themselves—is not really a real group. At least as far as I can tell. They seem like a duct-tape operation. Something hacked together over time, cobbled from numerous pieces of arcana, mythology, and whatever beliefs the founders decide are cool or interesting.

“The leaders sort of… bought their way in, best I can tell. They're originally a cult, with real followers, but they're not one that's been organized over historic time frames. My guess is this is just a ruse, some art dealer trying to make their claim to whatever fortune they're after even more valuable. Tacking on some ridiculous story, then selling the artifact they're trying to find on the black market, they stand to make a fortune."

"Seems like a lot of work."

"We're talking about the richest of the rich. The elite, the wealthiest individuals on the planet. These people have nothing to do but sit around all day and count their money. And apparently build cults to trick people into thinking they've found something of historic value."

"That still doesn't explain at all why they want to kill me."

"No, I guess it doesn't," Natia said. "Suffice to say, I have no idea. But I can tell you this—they do want to kill you, and they wanted you out of the picture for a long time. In fact, you're the reason I was able to find them in the first place."

Isaiah's eyes widened. "Really?"

Natia nodded. "Yes. I intercepted a message from one of the leaders of this group to one of the followers, a mercenary like the ones that have been following us. I couldn't tell if the mercenary was just a gun for hire, or an actual card-carrying member of this weird cult. Didn't matter. They wanted to find you, so I started digging. I found out you were just a student—no offense—trying to make a name for yourself in the archaeological community. You were in Cairo, and I wasn't too far away. Came down, found the man trying to find you, and took him out."

"Took him out?"

"Isaiah, I need you to grow up a bit. Stop being naïve. I understand this doesn't make sense—but I can assure you it doesn't need to for them to still kill you. Got that? I don't have answers for you yet, but I'm doing my best to find them. Whatever they're after—they're willing to kill for it. You, me, Shane Riley, anyone. Anyone in their way is an enemy to them. The closer we get to finding whatever it is they're after, the closer it is we get to finding answers for you."

Isaiah swallowed, looking past her toward the ruins behind her, then finally nodded slowly. "Okay, I understand. And I do want to help. This is my dream, after all."

He paused.

"Well, the part about searching ancient Egyptian ruins and doing real archaeological work. Not the part about being chased by cultist mercenaries who want me dead."

She couldn't help but smile. "That sort of attitude is going to keep you alive. Trust me. When people start taking everything so seriously, they stop being able to function. Try to stay loose, ready. Prepared for anything. I know you're not trained for any of this, but that's why you're with me now. Shane is good, too, albeit he's a little wet behind the ears, but he's figuring things out. Stick with me, no matter what. Understood?”

Isaiah nodded again, smiling. He looked even younger when he smiled, his face so youthful it gave the impression he was a 14-year-old, not a 24-year-old.

“Understood.”

CHAPTER 44

JACK

Jack waited on the floor of the cavernous space, looking upward. He could see the silhouette of Shane Riley's head through the crack, the remaining daylight behind him illuminating only a fraction of the space above his head.

"What—what happened? Are you okay? Jack, say something!"

Jack giggled, then laughed louder.

“What the hell? Why are you laughing?”

It felt good, playing a little prank on the Australian soldier. He didn't dislike the man, but there was a harshness to him. He was standoffish, reclusive, fitting the stereotype of a soldier quite well.

And he seemed to be annoyed by Jack's presence here. Perhaps it had something to do with Shane's feelings for Natia?

So when he’d told the soldier to let go of his wrist, he'd fallen straight down, landing easily on his feet and coming to a crouch. The floor beneath was solid stone, and perfectly flat, so Jack had no trouble landing on his feet. But he decided to have a little fun with it, screaming out in pain, pretending he'd broken a leg or something.

It was all in good fun—and there was really no downside other than Shane being scared and worried something had happened to him. That was perfectly fine with Jack.

"I'm okay, Riley. Just messing around."

"Well… stop messing around," Shane said curtly. "We don't have time for messing around."

Jack rolled his eyes, copying an expression he'd seen quite often on Shane Riley's face. "Get off it — you were just scared you'd have to pull me back out of here on your own."

Shane's feet appeared in the crack, his upper body still bent over the edge. "You think I'd actually come down to retrieve you?" Shane asked. "I'd just go back to the car and tell Natia and Isaiah you fell and broke your neck. Hell, you're already in a tomb, so there's not really much more we should have to do."

Jack wasn't sure if Shane was still joking, but if so, his sarcastic tone seemed a lot like his normal one.

Jack had his flashlight out and was looking around as Shane slid the rest of the way through the crack. He looked up just in time to see Shane's boots inches away from his face. Jack dove to the side, nearly falling to his hands and knees, but managed to regain his balance, narrowly missing getting landed on by the much larger Australian man.

The professor shined his flashlight directly into Shane's face after Shane landed and stood up. Shane was smirking, a goofy grin on his face. "Sorry about that, professor. Forgot to let you know I was coming down."

The professor huffed in nonresponse, and turned around and pointed the flashlight outward.

It was too small a light to see the entire space, but it did illuminate the area directly around them. Jack knew they wouldn't find anything here of value—anything worth stealing had long since been taken. The fact that the mastaba was still here, unguarded and unacknowledged, meant the Egyptian government didn't find it suitable for investment, so Jack wasn't surprised to see no sarcophagi inside, no remnants of the men and women who had been buried here whatsoever.

But he did see something he had expected to find—something he had hoped for.

Pictographs. Hieroglyphics.

Egyptian writing, covering every inch of the space inside. Drawings and writings from a time long lost, from a people that had come and gone thousands of years before him.

"Whoa," Shane said.

Jack nodded. "Whoa indeed."

In truth, he had wanted to come down first because, selfishly, it was his dream. This was his life's work—researching and talking about places like this. He had been through the Great Pyramid and toured the Sphinx grounds and temple on his previous trip. He had seen the location of King Tut's tomb, had found great joy in walking the same ground ancient Egyptians and pharaohs had walked.

But there was something more visceral—and something more real—about being here now. Even though this was not an undiscovered location, and it had been picked clean of anything able to be removed from the premises, it felt to Jack like he was the first human inside after it had been sealed up.

He wanted that moment, wanted that experience.

That he had to share it with this British-Australian soldier instead of the beautiful woman only a few hundreds away outside only diminished it slightly.

He swung the flashlight around slowly, taking in the larger space. It was a singular room, the ceiling held up by cylindrical columns spaced about every 2 feet. There were about 10 columns in total, two rows of five. He saw rectangular indentations against the walls between each set of columns, marking where sarcophagi would have lain.

"This is probably a mastaba built for a single family," he said. "It's small, relatively speaking."

"How many would have been buried here?" Shane asked.

"You mean, how many were buried. This place was absolutely used, or it would not have been built in the first place. My guess, probably 50 or 60 people. Even though there are distinct spaces for larger sarcophagi, bodies of deceased family members and relatives would be wrapped and placed alongside them. There's really no telling exactly how many people were here at one point."

"But there aren't any people here now," Shane said. "Does that mean there's nothing to gain? No insight to glean from this place?"

"Oh no, on the contrary," Jack said. "This place is littered with information. Each of these sections of writing tells a story, detailing the family that lived here, what they did, and what they were remembered for."

"While that's all absolutely fascinating for me, it's not entirely helpful to our mission today. We don't particularly care about some minor royalty in this backwoods gnome."

"Then what are we⁠—"

"Over there," Jack said, pointing his flashlight to the far wall.

Shane followed him over as Jack illuminated the surface of the southern wall. "This is where the tomb builders would write their names, like signing their work. It would also include mention of the pharaoh at the time, and any gods they wished to invoke. Osiris was almost always invoked this way, as he was the god of the afterlife, leading the deceased to the underworld."

"That's all great," Shane said, "but hieroglyphics is not really my best language."

Jack frowned at him. "You understand hieroglyphics?"

"No," Shane said dryly. "That was a joke."

Jack nodded but didn't respond. "Well, I'm no expert—I can't read all this on sight very quickly. I usually have to analyze things for a bit, compare with my notes and diagrams, but generally I can get the gist of the content of the site."

"What is it?" Shane asked. "Find something?"

"Maybe," Jack responded. "This right here, that's almost the symbol for Osiris. And the ones around it, altogether, represent Osiris leading the dead into the afterlife."

"Almost? You mean it's not Osiris?"

CHAPTER 45

NATIA

"Do you have any ideas on Professor Swain's theory?" Natia asked.

They continued walking, now coming to the southwest corner of the excavation site. There were no fences or lines marking the area, so their wandering was a bit aimless, but they tried to keep a rectangular perimeter around the obvious ruin at the center. Their eyes were on the ground, Natia looking for any potsherds or remnants of the civilization that lived here long ago. She felt it would be in vain—she had already told the others anything worth taking would have been taken by now—but it was better than walking around with nothing to do.

She wondered if the boys were okay, but knew Shane would have informed them by calling for help if they needed it. She wished they'd had walkie-talkies, some way to communicate, as her phone once again did not have service out here. But the place was abandoned, deserted completely. The nearest town they passed, as Jack explained, was nearly lifeless as well, the equivalent of an American one-horse town.

Unsurprisingly, they hadn't found anything on the ground. Nothing that implied there was something hidden beneath the surface, nothing to imply they were looking in the right place at all. She knew from her conversations with Jack that finding a pyramid wouldn't be easy.

While it seemed obvious that hiding a pyramid would be rather difficult, and thus anywhere a pyramid had been constructed in Egypt would have been rediscovered long ago, she had been convinced otherwise. Deterioration, poor building quality, anomalous weather effects—all of these had an impact on a structure's ability to stand the test of time for over three to five thousand years. Added to that was the truth that the desert was at their doorstep.

These sands shifted monthly, annually. Over the course of millennia, the dunes surrounding them would completely change, some flattening out while others moving away completely, sometimes consuming entire buildings and cities.

This factor had been proven time and again, and Jack only had to cite a few examples for her to be convinced.

It really was like looking for a needle in a haystack. And though the ground beneath her feet wasn't soft sand but rather hard-packed, dry dirt, it was still possible there could be the foundation of what had once been a primitive monument beneath her feet.

But without having any clues, any direction, it was pointless to start digging holes. They were a four-person team, with one shovel. They could dig a million holes out here and never find anything remotely like an ancient structure.

"It's hard to say," Isaiah began. She had almost forgotten she asked the question, he had been so quiet for the past minute. "It's hard to argue with Professor Swain—I know he is credentialed and very wise. I've never read his work, but I've seen his name. He is largely well respected in the community, and I have no reason to distrust him."

It sounded like a ‘but’ was coming, and Natia waited for it.

"But, this field in particular is very hesitant to adopt new ideas. There are many reasons for that, some of them valid and others a bit antagonistic and paranoid. The point is, I am a product of this academic leaning, of holding on to existing evidence as truth as long as possible."

"Until new evidence is found?" Natia asked.

"Yes. Evidence that directly contradicts the existing evidence. And even then, there will be questions about the integrity of that evidence, how it was found, its own validity, and such. In short, it is very difficult to change the minds of trained archaeologists."

Isaiah paused. "However, Professor Swain is a trained archaeologist. He's in the same academic circles as the ones who have adopted and accepted the beliefs they've come to. So who am I to say he's wrong? Who am I to say there is not a set of undiscovered pyramids that outline a particular constellation?"

"It's been done before," Natia offered.

"Exactly. I firmly believe the pyramids on the Giza Plateau represent Orion's belt. Many other Egyptologists do as well. Yes, there is reason to debate these things, all in search of better, more grounded evidence. But there are plenty of other ancient sites around the world that do arrange their monuments according to the night sky. Even in Egypt, though we don't have huge depictions of constellations on the ground in abundance, we know many of our buildings—pyramids included—have been arranged celestially. At the simplest level, the orientation of the monument itself. Is it north-south? East-west? Does it follow a particular line in the night sky?

“And there are more complex observations to be made as well. The great pyramid of Giza, for example, has shafts that point to Sirius and Orion, respectively. This has great meaning to the ancient Egyptians, though we aren't exactly sure what that meaning is. But it's clear to us there was meaning, at some time, or it would not have been done in the first place."

Natia nodded along, grateful that Isaiah had finally come around to understanding both his predicament and his potential value here.

She would never tell him or the professor, but she wanted them to air their beliefs to one another—to contradict, to argue about things. It would only solidify the eventual realization, whatever it may be. She hoped that by fostering a little dissent, she could help refine Professor Swain's theory, perhaps even help him find a breakthrough that would get them across the finish line.

"Let's say he's correct," Natia said. "What would it possibly mean? If we find a pyramid that represents Orion on the ground, Osiris on the ground? We know the pyramids weren't tombs, so what is it this group could be after? I'm sure it would turn over accepted Egyptological thought to find that Osiris was based on a real person, but even if we did find a tomb with bones inside and could somehow prove it was Osiris, that doesn't seem like a discovery worth killing for."

Isaiah's face darkened. "Perhaps," he said softly. "But perhaps not. You must understand, for us—for Egyptians—this is more than just our history. Our culture. It is who we are. It runs through our blood. Discovering who we were, where we came from—for some of us, there is nothing more important. It's the same sort of belief that leads to the Crusades—masses of people forcing religion on others or killing them. It's led to genocides, the Holocaust. I'm not saying that's what this is, or what it will become, not at all. But yes, I can easily see why people would kill to discover this information."

He paused again, this time longer, his eyes darting once again to the sun setting above the mastaba.

"And others might kill to keep it secret."

CHAPTER 46

NATIA

"Do you believe Osiris was a real person?" Natia asked.

He sighed. "Yes. It's hard to believe otherwise. Why completely invent a god from whole cloth? Every religious belief in human history tells stories of their gods, all based on people that actually existed or amalgamations of multiple people. Sure, the veracity in these myths is often exaggerated, sometimes greatly so. Walking on water, levitating, rising from the dead—these sorts of things that cannot be explained with modern science do not necessarily negate or preclude the existence of the deity's human form."

Natia knew Isaiah was intelligent, but he spoke in a way that was both easy to understand and somehow convoluted. It was as if the young man was trying to use big words for her sake, to impress her, or because he had had little practice communicating with other humans before.

She smiled as she considered this last option.

"So Osiris could have been a real person—an agricultural expert or farmer who taught others his methods. Over time, he gained a following because of his generosity. That became a sort of religion, or pseudo-religion. Long after his death, people began telling his story, exaggerating pieces of it until it became an almost unrecognizable myth. We have examples of this — heck, Jesus was a lowly carpenter.”

"Yes, perhaps something like that. And I don't believe there was a lot of time between when Osiris the actual person lived and when these myths began developing. In fact, it could have been while he was still alive that these legends were built. Again, it's impossible to say with certainty, but there's no reason to suspect there would have been a major gap in time. And in that case, he could have been very revered upon his death, which means his body and remains would have been cared for, kept safe at a sacred site."

"Like a pyramid."

"Sure. More likely just a simple mastaba like this one, albeit larger and more ornate. The point is, it's highly unlikely the Egyptians would lose his body. Death of the body in Egypt has always been a sacred event, one involving much fanfare and concern. And for a man who would one day become the god of the afterlife and the underworld, this would be especially so. So I believe Osiris was real, that he led a loyal group of followers and eventually became a deity, revered across Egypt.

“I also believe that upon his death, he would have been interred in some sort of monument, like a pyramid or tomb. And that brings me to Professor Swain's theory. I do think it's possible that the place Osiris finally rested in could have been lost over time. Egypt has had much strife, warring factions taking over lands, giving them back, nomes changing hands. While these sites are extremely important, we're talking about the span of 10,000 years, at least. Less since the time of Osiris, but still, thousands of years of geological changes means it would not be impossible for us to lose the final resting place of Osiris."

Natia was about to respond when she heard the sound of a car approaching. She whirled around quickly, spotting their own vehicle about 200 yards away, back on the dirt road leading toward the small town. A cloud of dust crested the horizon from the west, just beneath the setting sun. It was just a black silhouette from here, but it was obviously a modern vehicle.

And it wasn't alone.

The cloud of dust parted, revealing two other vehicles, both matching speed with the lead vehicle.

"We need to get back to the vehicle."

"What about the⁠—"

"Shane can take care of the professor and himself. Our weapons are in the vehicle. Do you know how to shoot?"

She broke into a run, thankful that Isaiah was following behind, but concerned that he didn't respond at first.

"Isaiah, remember what we talked about."

Finally, he answered. "Yes, I've shot a weapon before. But no, I don't know how to shoot. And I don't know how… to kill someone."

"They're just like a paper target," she said quickly. "Except they're not made out of paper."

Once again, he didn't respond. She didn't bother checking on him; she could still hear his footsteps pounding behind her as she closed the distance to their vehicle.

It was clear they weren't going to make it before the cars reached them. There was a slight possibility these three cars would simply drive by, not pulling off where they had at the ancient site.

But she knew it was a moonshot. There was absolutely no way these people were just passing through. No one just passed through out here.

That would resolve at least one of her problems. She worried she wouldn't be able to fend off three groups of mercenaries if that was what the cars were bringing. She couldn't rely on Isaiah, obviously.

But it was clear now the problem had been solved for her. She wasn't going to make it in time—which meant she wasn't going to be able to get to those weapons and even mount a defense.

There were still about 50 feet between her and their parked vehicle when the first car slowed.

As she feared, this group was here for them.

But it didn't appear to be mercenaries. Instead, the lead vehicle seemed to be the same one they'd seen at the other archaeological site, the one that had crept up later, joining the two police cruisers.

The two cars in the back were police, however. They matched the make and model of the lead car. Three government vehicles, all carrying someone—or multiple someones—directly to them.

For a moment she wished they were dealing with incompetent mercenaries, men who simply threw themselves forward into the fray without much thought for their own safety. That kind she could understand—she could win against.

But she had no idea what lay behind the darkened windows.

Though she knew she was about to find out.

CHAPTER 47

SHANE

"These four symbols represent Sah, not Osiris."

"Why is that significant?" Shane asked.

"I'm not entirely sure," Jack said. “My guess is that this site — and these symbols — predate the more modern iteration of Osiris. So this is talking about Osiris, but they’re using a slightly different glyph set to represent it. It gets a little muddy trying to separate Saw from Osiris in Egyptian history.

“There's related mythology, but while Osiris is far more known, Sah is considered the father of the gods, a moniker that implies he superseded Osiris. Still, there's not much in the text about Saw comparatively. And the constellations making up the representation of Sah in the celestial sense are our Orion and Lepus. Orion, of course, being the same constellation that represents Osiris."

"Sounds confusing."

"It's very confusing, especially when we don't have much source material to go off of. We're talking the dynastic timeframe of thousands of years – many thousands of years. This length of time in antiquity, combined with the fact that so much has been lost to time, means that we just don't have the records we need to understand exactly what all of these gods meant, why they were worshiped, why they changed and morphed over time."

"They changed?" Shane asked.

Jack nodded while examining the pictographs. "Oh, yes. Sometimes Osiris is shown with his wooden staff, the curved shepherd's hook. Other times he's shown with his flail, and others he's wearing a white hat. Still others honor his agricultural background and experience, and show him using a shadoof.”

“A sha-what?”

“Shadoof,” Jack said. “It was like a crane made from a mounted fishing pole. You add a counterweight to one side, and it helps you lift a heavy object on the other. You still need muscle, but it eases the job a bit.”

“Is that how they built the pyramids?”

Jack side-eyed Shane as if he were insane. “No.”

“Oh.”

“But they were common implements in antiquity around here, especially for getting water from a stream. You could work standing up instead of hunched over.”

“Okay.”

“Anyway, f you wanted to be clear about what you were representing when you made these permanent etchings in a place like this, wouldn't you want to be consistent?"

"Of course."

"But the fact that they're not consistent means they changed over time. Writings like this from the same timeframe usually have the same depictions of gods, but go forward or backward in time long enough and you'll find different ones. And it's not just a difference in artistic style, either. It's a difference in how they represented these gods entirely. Osiris is known as the god of the afterlife, but he's also the god of fertility and agriculture, three very distinct and distinctly different studies, wouldn't you say?"

Shane wanted to make some sort of joke about a dead farmer's sex life, but he just couldn't think of it in time. Instead, he nodded along.

"I've long since thought that because so many relatively different things have been tacked onto Osiris, he must've been based on a real person. Perhaps a shepherd leader, benevolent enough to gain a large following. A strongly loyal following that eventually revered him as a god. What came after would be myth and legend – that his brother chopped him up into pieces, his consort Isis put him back together, wrapped him up like a mummy so that he could come back to life. All of that."

"They wrapped him up like a mummy?" Shane asked.

"Again, it's part of the myth, but yes, Osiris being wrapped up by his wife is considered the first reference we have to mummification. It's understood that this is where mummification comes from, actually. A way of preserving the body so that it can remain intact in the afterlife."

Shane turned as the sound of three thuds reached them from outside. It sounded like three marbles being dropped in a metal bucket, in rapid succession.

Shit.

Jack heard it too, but judging by the look on his face, he didn't understand what it was.

"Time to go, Professor," Shane said, grabbing the man's elbow and hurrying him back toward the gap up top.

"What was that?" Jack asked.

"Gunshots."

Shane reached the spot underneath the ceiling where they had come in and crouched down, threading his hands together and offering them to Jack as a boost. Jack knew what to do, lacing his foot into Shane's hands and letting himself be propelled upward. He easily grasped the edge of the crack and pulled his upper body through, while Shane pushed from below. They would have a bit harder of a time getting Shane up and out of the hole, but they could deal with that later.

Shane needed to know what was out there.

"Shane," the professor said, his voice gloomy.

Shane squinted. "What is it?"

"We've got company."

CHAPTER 48

SHANE

Shane saw a rope fall down before him. It was knotted in places, offering a simple, crude ladder for him to climb. He glanced around at the dark space. Professor Swain had taken the flashlight with him, so even if there was another exit to be found, or a pile of rocks to move, he wasn't going to be able to see the way to do it.

That meant the only way up was… up.

He groaned, grumbling about letting himself be caught with his pants down, but his thoughts were interrupted by a deep voice from above. It was gravelly, older.

"Please climb the rope and join us," the voice said.

Shane had already decided to do that, but he didn't want the man barking orders at him to get the satisfaction. So he waited, a petulant child throwing a tantrum, for another 30 seconds.

The voice did not continue, as if already knowing Shane's play.

Shane swore under his breath and finally began climbing the rope. He mumbled to himself. “But I'm only doing it because I want to.”

Though the sun had sunk even farther down toward the horizon, the light outside was nearly blinding compared to the pitch-black interior of the mastaba. Shane's head poked up, and he saw two men holding the rope in place for him to climb. They seemed wiry, far too small to be able to hold his weight, but they had done an admirable job. He hadn't known it wasn't secured to a rock while he was climbing.

He saw Professor Swain standing sheepishly to the side, another man holding a pistol out, clearly with the intent of showing Shane he was armed and ready to fire at one of them or both.

He pulled himself up onto the edge of the mastaba's roof once more, this time trying to keep his gut in place and not embarrass himself further. Finally, he stood up, groaned again, and brushed the dust off his knees. Then he turned a full, slow circle as the two men coiled the rope up and slung it over their shoulders. In the distance, he saw their parked car, now joined by three more.

He also saw Natia and Isaiah on their knees, their hands behind their backs, two other gunmen pointing their weapons at them. They were far away from him, kneeling in front of their vehicle. There was no time to get there before… whatever was about to happen.

Was this an execution? Did they want him and Professor Swain to watch as they killed Isaiah and Natia in cold blood? And why hadn't Natia warned them? Why hadn't she run over and yelled that there were mercenaries coming?

Suddenly he realized. The cars were different from the mercenaries, not the rental sedan the OA cultist had been driving, nor were they police cars or army vehicles. They were the same government vehicles he had seen at the other site. Whoever had scrutinized them before had followed behind, careful to stay far enough back to not be noticed. Perhaps even using live satellite feeds to track their every move.

"Thank you for joining us," the gravelly-voiced man said – he was the one who had been holding the gun behind Professor Swain. He took a step to his left, careful to keep the gun between Swain and his own body. Shane wasn't an idiot; though it wasn't pointed at either of them, he knew the man could fling it up in an instant, take out Shane, and drop him dead before Jack knew what happened. And Jack was hardly the man to put up a fight, to be able to fend for himself.

He glanced quickly at the other two government men, seeing bulges on their hips, beneath their outer clothing.

They're all armed.

In a fair fight, if they'd been in their car, Shane might be able to hold his own against them. They had better weaponry, and though the subcompact wasn't his first choice, it could put a lot of rounds into a man before the pistol could be fired. But they weren't at the car, and Natia hadn't made it there, either.

"Who are you?" Shane asked.

"We're with the Egyptian government," the man said. "My name is Zari al-Basir. I work for the Ministry of Antiquities, and my job is to root out corruption and prevent the sorts of activities you and your group have been engaging in."

Shane cocked an eye and squinted through one eye at him. "What activities do you think we have been engaging in?"

"Actually, I don't have to answer your questions," the man said. His English was perfect, though he had a strong Egyptian accent. Perhaps even European. British? It seemed maybe the man had studied at an English university for some time. "But you do have to answer mine. We operate with authority above local police, and we have assets from the Central Security Force at our disposal. Should you choose not to cooperate, we —“

"I never said anything about not cooperating," Shane snapped. "Let's just get on with it. You tell me what you want to know, and I'll tell you the answer. Simple as that."

The man laughed. "If ever something were as simple as that, Mr. Riley."

"So you know who I am."

"I wish I could say I had an in with intelligence programs and cross-referenced your face with a database, finding your name on the plane ticket that took you here, but in this case, it was simpler than that. I just asked your friends back there. The younger one seemed quite eager to give you up."

"That so?"

"It is so."

"And what exactly did he give up? We're not here illegally, Mr. al-Basir, nor are we doing anything illegal. This is not an officially sanctioned government site, and we clearly haven't stolen anything." He opened his palms, as if showing he was empty-handed, but the government official didn't seem to care.

"I'm not interested in what you might steal, Riley. At least not here. I know for a fact there is nothing here for you to steal, and I know for a fact there's nothing at the previous site we saw you at for you to steal. Although for different reasons – that site was picked clean by whoever showed up and murdered the archaeologists and their students and crew."

Does he suspect us? It was impossible to tell, the man's gravelly, deep voice hid any emotion he might let slip.

"And before you ask, no, you are not suspects. It simply doesn't make sense. But in truth, very little of this does. I've dealt with grave robbers before, Mr. Riley. You don't fit the persona. Nor does the murderer or murderers who massacred good Egyptian people at the previous site. So while I don't think you killed them, I do believe your group is here trying to find those who did. And that's exactly what I am after.”

"So you're offering to work together," Shane said, a smile on his face. "And here I thought you were trying to intimidate us, trying to scare us."

"I am not interested in working with you, Mr. Riley." He turned and addressed Professor Swain. "And your good professor friend has informed me that you are not the type of person who likes working with other people."

Shane glared at Professor Swain, who offered a slight shrug. Shane understood the man was probably terrified out of his mind, but that didn't excuse him from bad-mouthing Shane while he was downstairs.

"Instead, we would like to let you continue your progress."

Shane frowned.

"This little display should hopefully entice you to see our side, our point of view. What you do in Egypt must be sanctioned by the Egyptian government, and if not… you are not welcome here."

"What exactly are you sanctioning us to do?"

"As I said – we want to find those responsible for the deaths of the archaeology crew. But we don't believe they're grave robbers, either. You have information about who they might be, and what they might want. We want this information, and we want you to find them."

"Actually, we're not –"

"Do not misunderstand my tone, Mr. Riley. I am posing it as a question solely due to professional courtesy. You will help us find them, and you will tell us why they are here. Only then will we allow you to leave."

CHAPTER 49

SHANE

"Listen, Zari," Shane began. "I'm not sure what you think is going on, but we are just as in the dark as you are."

"If you expect me to believe that, your naivety is even worse than I imagined."

"It's not naivety, it's a fact."

"Is that so?" Zari said. He shifted, stepping away from Professor Swain, focusing his attention – and the weapon he still held in his right hand – on Shane. Though he wasn't pointing it, Shane knew the drill. He couldn't close the distance between himself and the government official before the man got a shot off, nor could he expect to do any harm to the man with just his fists with two more armed officials standing behind him.

"Tell me, then. Why did you come here? What was it you were hoping to find at this site?"

Shane's eyes glanced over to Professor Swain. The professor had already ratted him out – told them who he was – so he wondered if Jack had also taken it upon himself to spill the beans on every detail of their operation already.

Jack offered him a slight shake of his head.

That would be good news, if Shane had cooked up a plausible back story. Unfortunately, he had not, and since he and Jack were separated from the other half of their party, he couldn't expect to make something up on the fly that would corroborate whatever story Natia and Isaiah were telling over there.

"We're tourists," Shane said. "Visitors, just passing through. Professor Swain's been studying sites like these for some time. He wanted to see them."

"Tourists."

Shane stared at the man, his eyes squinting slightly.

"And I don't believe you are a professor or an academic of any sort," the official said. "So why are you here? What exactly do you add to this little operation, Mr. Riley?"

"I am… good at retrieving things."

Zari smiled. "Retrieving things. I see. As naïve as you may be, you can't expect to come into a country like Egypt – one rife with crime, theft, grave robbers, every breed of criminal miscreant – and look at a man like me, one who has been in his position for over a decade, and in government for three, and think I share any of that same naivety.

“I know exactly why people like you – tourists, as you say – come into my country. You look for the artifacts of my people. At worst, you help to loot, to extract treasures and sell them at your discretion on any number of black markets around the world. And there would be buyers; it is a lucrative game. At best, however, you want to take these same treasures – the remnants of a culture I've spent my life trying to piece back together – and offer them to museums around the world. What a philanthropic effort! So altruistic. You get your name on a plaque next to an artifact you find here, the museum gets a few extra donors, and many more visitors. It's a win-win, no?”

Zari didn’t wait for Shane to offer a response.

"No, it is not. We lose. Egypt loses. These artifacts belong here, where they originated. Their life is here, and it shall remain so. My job is to prevent people like you – the scum of the black-market community – from even so much as glancing around and getting lust in your eye at what you might extract from my home. My job is to prevent men like you, Mr. Riley, from existing at all."

"So, you're going to kill me then?" Shane asked, his voice dripping with vitriol.

"As I told you, no. I'm playing a lot larger game than just throwing the likes of you in prison. Though that's not off the table yet. Comply, and we will see about extraditing you to the United States. You have, technically, done nothing wrong yet. Nothing we've found anyway. Keep it that way, and there's a good chance you find yourself on a plane out of the country very soon.

"But I'm trying to find the group you're following. They represent a force far worse than your little ragtag group of misfits. They command greater resources, and though their exact goals have not been revealed to me, I've been around long enough to know that operating the way they are will only lead to a bad outcome for Egypt. By enlisting your help, we can find them much faster. As you have no doubt put together, they are murderers. Worse than simple-minded grave robbers. They're here not just to steal, but to kill the good men and women working to protect my home, to protect its historic secrets."

Shane nodded. He had put that together, of course. And he couldn't disagree with Zari. If there was a chance they might find the Order of Ascension – or whatever the hell they really were – sooner, he wanted to help.

He wasn't particularly enthused about working with this government group – it not only broke his rule, it broke it in a way that felt like a corruption of principle.

But he had no choice. He looked at Zari, just as he heard the sound of rotor wash cracking over the horizon. The sun was now halfway past the line, and the black silhouette of a helicopter heading southwest was unmistakable.

"Our ride is here," Zari said.

Shane watched as Natia and Isaiah were summoned to their feet, motioned forward by the two soldiers guarding them. They were walked toward the mastaba and the five people atop it.

"What do you say, Mr. Riley?" Zari asked, his voice a bit louder. "You will help us, no?"

Shane knew it wasn't a question – or, rather, it wasn't a question he expected an answer to. Zari knew Shane and the others would help, because he had given them no choice.

Shane's glare turned to a forced smile as he answered. "We will, Zari." He said. "As it turns out, I'm rather tired of driving around your country in the back of a sedan." He motioned to the helicopter approaching. "That thing looks far more comfortable, so I'm willing to give it a go."

CHAPTER 50

SHANE

The helicopter was not a more comfortable ride.

Shane was strapped into a five-point harness, wedged between two of the wiry Egyptian soldiers. He couldn't tell by their insignia which branch they were from, though they seemed to be trained well enough. Zari had called them Central Security Force, and they certainly held an air of military superiority. They each held their weapons at the ready, eyes never leaving their counterparts across the crowded interior. Between them sat Natia and Isaiah, and Zari, the leader of the group, sat up front with the pilot.

They'd left their three sedans back at the site, along with Natia’s weapons, Shane’s ginger beer, and whatever other gear Jack had stuffed in the boot of the rental.

Shane sighed as he thought of the four remaining ginger beers waiting for him. He should have asked to bring them along.

Shane wondered if it was some sort of power play, showing him how little Zari cared for government vehicles, but figured it would be easy enough for another group of CSF soldiers to head back out and retrieve them.

He'd been given a headset to wear, but no one had offered conversation after embarking on their journey. As the sun dipped below the horizon, Shane calculated they were heading almost due south. Wherever they were going, it seemed to line up with Jack's prediction that there were more ancient sites to be discovered.

That said, Shane wasn't familiar with the geography of Egypt. They could be headed toward another major city and he would have no idea.

The flight lasted about half an hour, and while it was not particularly comfortable, the droning sound of the rotor wash outside his headset almost lulled him into a restful sleep. He forced himself to stay awake, though he let himself close his eyes momentarily.

When they landed, he was roughly pulled out of his harness and out of the chopper onto a flat patch of stone earth, the sand previously on top now filed in a circle around the aircraft where the downward thrust of the rotors could no longer reach.

That would be an interesting way to do some excavation, Shane realized. Perhaps a helicopter flying low enough could simply dust off any ancient sites, revealing buildings and whatnot. He shook his head, knowing there was more to it than that.

If it were so simple, it would've already been done.

In that case, he wondered, what were they doing out here? He knew Jack's speech about governments not always having the funding to perform large digs and excavations, but this particular branch of the Egyptian government seemed to be well-outfitted. Was it corruption, then? Why didn't they have the money to go search these ancient sites? If they did, why had they chosen to also follow along with Professor Swain's research? Surely he wasn't the first Egyptologist or academic to suggest there were more ancient sites and even offer possible locations as to where they might be. So why hadn't they cared to excavate?

These questions plagued Shane's mind as he was led with Natia, Isaiah, and Professor Swain out of the chopper and toward a massive sand dune. Shane used his relative freedom to gather intel about their location but quickly let out a deep sigh.

They were in the middle of nowhere.

He knew the old phrase about being in the middle of nowhere all too well, but on all sides, sand surrounded them. Not even a road or camel could be seen, unless the chopper itself hid it from view.

What was the point of all this? Why had they taken him here?

He felt adrenaline begin coursing through him as he wondered if he were being led to his execution. Perhaps everything Zari had told them was a lie, a ruse to get them complacent enough to follow behind. Maybe the chopper was just an efficient vehicle for taking them far enough away from prying eyes.

Was that what this had come to? Was the Egyptian government just going to disappear their bodies?

He looked around again, realizing it wouldn't be a bad idea on their part. This place would make a perfect site to stash some executed bodies. No one would be out here, and for good reason – spending a day here would be a death sentence in and of itself. He wondered how far from civilization they really were.

Professor Swain was walking by his side now, and he saw on the professor's face the same fear he was beginning to feel. He wondered if they all felt it – if Natia herself wondered if this was all going to hell quickly if they had made a misstep somewhere in trusting Zari and his government cronies even a little bit.

They reached the edge of the circle cut out of the rock by the powerful downward thrust of the chopper's rotor blades, and Shane immediately had a harder time walking. The sand was soft, no doubt more than a few feet deep, like walking across the fluid dry sands of the beach. His boots became lodged with every step, his legs having to exert that much more force to extract them every foot.

As such, it was slow going. Shane was by far not the least fit person on the planet, but with this group, only Natia was faring better. He had the strength and power to move quicker, but Zari and his younger soldiers seemed to be struggling even more than Swain and Isaiah.

They slowed, making a snail's pace up the edge of the dune to the top.

It took another 15 minutes, but finally Shane could see over the massive dune.

Just as his head crested the rise, he was pulled backward by one of the soldiers and told to be quiet in Arabic.

He watched as the soldiers and Zari got down on their knees, crept toward the top, and stared. He followed suit, not wanting to be left out, and wanting to get a glimpse once again at what he thought he saw down below.

People. Vehicles. Weapons.

In an instant, he knew it was the cult group and their mercenaries. They had once again beaten them to this site. Whatever the site was supposed to be was unclear, though it looked to be an old city, carved from the stone beneath the sand.

He knew that wasn't the case – that weathering and sandblasting had smoothed the stone building blocks to make them uniform and homogenous. But the effect was the same – stone lines stretched left to right, up and down, perpendicular in places where they met in corners. None had roofs that he could see, and he knew this was an ancient site that had been covered by sand for a long time.

Had the mercenary cult group uncovered this themselves? Or had they gotten lucky? Perhaps wind had moved the dunes, sliding them away from this hidden place.

Next to him, Professor Swain gasped. "It's got to be the site of Saqqara. The great necropolis of Memphis and this nome for centuries. The Pyramid of Djoser is nearby, as well. And this is just the beginning – if I'm correct, this place will stretch on for miles. There will be a never-ending supply of archaeology to be performed here. In fact, I think –"

"Quiet," Zari hissed from Swain's other side. "We must not be seen or heard.”

Shane knew then Zari's plan. He wanted to sneak up on the mercenaries, to capture them like he'd done with Shane's group. This time, however, Zari was planning for better defense. Shane saw five mercenary men, rifles slung over their backs, holding shovels or rolling wheelbarrows over rocky earth. The workers were the security guards here, but Shane knew they would be ready to fend off any attackers in an instant.

Zari's plan was sound, then. They had the high ground, the element of surprise.

He saw a sixth and then a seventh mercenary appear, apparently climbing hidden stairs behind a wall in the distance.

So there could be more, Shane thought. It didn't necessarily change Zari's plan – it was still sound – but it did make things a bit more complicated.

They didn't know the size of the enemy. How many combatants.

And he'd seen them fight, knew they were cultists first, mercenaries second. They were scrappy and willing to die for their cause — to find the remains of Osiris himself.

That threw another wrench in things. Shane didn't exactly like going up against kamikaze soldiers, suicide terrorists. They were wilder, more unpredictable, and wouldn't stop when threatened. Or backed into a corner.

There would be no surrender if they launched an all-out assault.

He turned to Zari and spoke over Swain's back. "We can't attack from here," he said softly. "We don't know how large this place is, how many more there might be."

Zari nodded, not moving his eyes from the scene unfolding below.

Shane watched him, wondering what he was thinking. Had this man been trained in military tactics and strategy? Or was he just a politician, a zealot trying to wrest control of something he believed was his to control?

He turned and spoke in Arabic to one of the soldiers on his left. The man nodded, tapping his counterpart's shoulder next to him, and both men retreated from the dune side.

Shane saw them descend all the way down, then begin marching south around the lower section of the dune.

"I'll send my other man to the north, where he will wait for us to move down. We don't want to get caught in any crossfire, so be willing and ready to duck behind something. But I'd like to approach this diplomatically, if possible."

Shane swallowed. He already knew how diplomatic these mercenaries were, how unwilling to negotiate.

"You four move first, before me and my lieutenant. Any funny business and I simply put you down one by one. Got it?"

Each of them nodded, but Shane was watching Natia as she did. What was she thinking? Was she also trying to work out a plan, a way to get out from under Zari and his henchmen?

If they did, would they simply be making the situation worse?

Out of the frying pan, into the fire?

He didn't want to be controlled, hated it, in fact. But if there was any chance diplomacy could work, Shane felt like it might be a safe option. He certainly did not want to be caught between the fire of the government men and the mercenaries.

But he had been disarmed, searched, and ensured as Zari had ensured they wouldn't be a threat.

Whatever Natia was thinking, they needed to figure it out quickly. They needed to put their heads together and find a way out.

They needed to become the threat.

CHAPTER 51

JACK

Jack had never been as scared in his entire life. He'd never been in any situation remotely like this, and now he was being used as bait. What else was he supposed to believe? This government official—Zari something—was about to march them to their deaths. He had already sent two soldiers down to the edge of the dune, likely to flank the battle soon to take place straight ahead.

They were outnumbered, outmatched. For every weapon Zari's men had, the mercenary cult men had two more. It was a suicide mission, and Jack Swain was about to be the first sacrifice.

He felt his knees shaking, trying to hold it together. Zari's third man had gone around the opposite side of the dune, likely as an insurance plan in case the flank operation to his left didn't pan out. Zari was quietly whispering orders to his last man on the dune, having retreated a few steps back from the edge so he could stand upright with him.

Jack leaned over and whispered to Shane Riley. "You have a way out of this?" he asked.

Shane growled. "Working on it."

Jack rolled his eyes. Typical macho guy, he thought. He has no idea what to do, either. But he can't just admit it, can't just say what they were all thinking.

We are toast.

If Zari got what he wanted, if he pushed them all over the edge of the dune and down to the mercenary camp excavation site, they would immediately start shooting at them. Why wouldn't they? They'd already proven they wanted to kill Isaiah and Shane, and likely Natia. Jack was the only one they really needed to find the excavation sites, but so far they were doing just fine without him. Did they even need Jack's work and theory anymore? Or had they already found the potential pyramid sites?

Zari turned and began walking back up the dune to join Jack and the others, but suddenly the sound of gunfire erupted to his left.

Jack ducked instinctively, then pulled his head up once more and glanced over the edge. The two men Zari had sent to that side of the dune were crouched behind the ruins of an ancient wall, their weapons out and leaning on the top of it. Two of the mercenary cultists were firing at them, having spotted them a moment ago.

As they fired, even more mercenaries appeared from the staircase behind the wall at the opposite end of the site. In a few seconds, Jack counted eight men, all either firing on the two soldiers or preparing to do so.

Zari's voice was still a whisper, but it sounded like a scream. He yelled something in Arabic, his last remaining soldier suddenly disappearing down the backside of the dune, heading back toward the helicopter where the pilot waited.

Shane pulled Jack's arm, yanking him sideways and closer to Natia and Isaiah. Momentarily, Zari seemed to be focused elsewhere, watching the display down below. A second later, his first soldier fell, blood pouring out of multiple wounds on his body. A few seconds after that, the second one died.

Zari barked something that sounded like a curse in Arabic, finally turning to Jack and the others. "Get down there," he hissed.

"What are you talking about? If we⁠—"

Zari pulled out his pistol and aimed directly at Jack's forehead. "Go now, or I start removing you from the picture, one at a time."

Jack felt tears welling in his eyes, but nodded slowly. He was terrified but knew he had to force himself into action.

Shane was already moving, coming up to his knees and pulling Isaiah up with him. The three of them began descending the dune, trying to stay low and out of sight of the mercenaries. Natia moved swiftly, her eyes darting around, searching for any sign of cover.

"Stay close," Shane whispered. "And keep your heads down."

They made their way down the dune, the soft sand making every step an effort. Jack's heart pounded in his chest, each beat echoing the fear coursing through him. The sound of gunfire continued, punctuated by the occasional shout or cry of pain.

As they reached the middle of the dune, they found a small outcropping of rock, barely enough to hide behind. They crouched down, trying to make themselves as small as possible. Shane peered around the edge, assessing the situation.

"We need a plan," Natia said, her voice steady despite the chaos around them.

"Agreed," Shane replied. "But first, we need to know what we're dealing with."

He looked over at Jack, who was visibly shaking. "Jack, can you see anything from here? Anything that might give us an advantage?"

Jack took a deep breath and forced himself to look over the rock. The mercenaries were spread out, their attention focused on the two remaining soldiers from Zari's group. He could see the staircase the mercenaries had come from, leading down to what must be a larger structure partially buried in the sand.

"There," Jack pointed. "That staircase. If we can get to it, we might be able to find some cover inside."

Shane nodded. "Good. We'll move on my signal. Natia, you cover me. Isaiah, stay close to Jack. Natia and I will split up to draw their attention away from you too, got it?”

The three others nodded.

They waited for a break in the gunfire, then Shane gave the signal.

CHAPTER 52

SHANE

Shane saw an opening. He grabbed Jack's arm in one hand, Isaiah's in the other. "On me!" he shouted.

He didn't have time to train everyone in the ways of military lingo or squad communication while on a mission. He hoped they'd seen enough TV, played enough video games, or had enough common sense to figure it out.

He half ran, half fell down the opposite side of the dune toward the battle. It was a lull in that battle momentarily, and he knew it wouldn't last. The two soldiers Zari had sent to the south side of the dune had fallen, but the mercenary cultists didn't know that. He watched as the men—all of them Egyptian, looking similar to Zari and the soldiers they were attacking—faced south, positioning themselves behind stone walls, an upturned wheelbarrow, and even a pile of buckets, for all the good that would do.

Shane was unarmed and so far undetected. But upon reaching halfway down the face of the dune, two of the mercenaries caught sight of him and his two stumbling companions. They swiveled around, bringing their weapons up and aiming, but Shane pushed Isaiah and the professor face-first down the side of the small mountain. It wasn't exactly like falling down a snowy hill on a ski trip, but he hoped it wouldn't be too far off. They could handle a few scrapes and bruises, he told himself.

At the same time, he pushed off their backs and launched himself to the side, just as the first soldier found his target and began firing at him. The rounds peppered the side of the dune where they had just been. Shane was now running diagonally down, hoping Natia would do something to help.

He suddenly heard a woman's voice. There she is.

She screamed, trying to attract the attention of the mercenaries. It worked well enough, as the two men who had positioned themselves to fire on Isaiah, Jack, and Shane now kept swiveling and aimed their weapons back up the large dune.

Shane kept running, aiming for the spot 200 feet away where the two soldiers Zari had sent to die lay on the sand. More gunfire erupted, as Zari's third man, the one sent to the north side of the dune, began firing at the mercenaries. Shane winced, hoping he wouldn't accidentally hit Jack or Isaiah, and he quickly wondered if he should have left them on top.

No, that was pointless—Zari was still up there, as was the other soldier who had been heading back toward the chopper. He didn't know what the soldier and chopper were going to do, nor did he know what Zari was planning, but it didn't matter. He wanted his team with him. Especially since the two civilians were the only ones here who could even venture a guess as to what was going on underground. And that was Shane's goal—get them underground.

Phase one of that goal involved getting a weapon, a goal he had almost accomplished. There were two lying there—the assault rifles the dead soldiers had been carrying. He'd seen them reload once, so he knew at least one of the rifles was full, and potentially both. He also knew they had been carrying additional magazines on their belts. That would be helpful.

Shane reached them, glancing back to see Isaiah and Professor Swain leaning their backs against the half wall at the base of the dune. It was large enough to cover them, and they would be out of sight from all of the approaching mercenaries.

Shane found the first dead soldier and relieved him of his belt and weapon. From the second, he grabbed a magazine, shoving it in his pocket, and picked up his assault rifle as well. They both had sidearms, but Shane wasn't interested. He didn't have enough arms to carry it all, and didn't have time to outfit himself with their holsters.

A few shots hit the dirt to his right, and he realized he was now being targeted again. They knew where he was, which meant he needed to move, do something unexpected. He didn't know the exact angles, but the wall he was behind now was about 3 feet tall, but jutted diagonally upward to about 8 feet tall about 10 feet away. That would be the most obvious place to mount a counterattack from, he knew. Any smart operative would walk to the edge of the wall, standing fully upright and still remaining concealed behind it, then aim around it and try to pick off a few of the mercenaries.

And while he certainly fancied himself a smart operative, he also knew the mercenaries might be thinking the same thing.

As proof, gunfire had subsided for a moment. They were either sneaking up on him—not good—or they were just waiting for him around the side of the taller section of wall—equally not so good.

So Shane did the only thing he thought possible—he ran straight forward, away from the wall. Eventually, the sloping ground would mean they would see him, his back offering a fairly large target for anyone with a good enough shot. But before he could get far enough away, he dove to the left again, just at the base of the dune he had been hiding behind previously, taking the same route the two soldiers had come down before they had been gunned down.

He landed in a heap at the base, then crawled forward on his hands and knees until he was rounded away from the battle and out of sight.

Give me a moment to catch my breath, at least, he thought.

There was still work to be done, of course. All the mercenaries now knew exactly where he was, and every single one of them was going to be waiting for him to reappear somewhere on the dune or around it. Even now, he imagined them sneaking around the north side of the dune after taking care of Zari's last soldier there.

He didn't know where Zari, his other soldier, and the chopper pilot were, if they still were around. Perhaps Zari had gone back to tell the pilot to warm up the chopper again. They were relatively far away—Zari's obvious attempt at trying to park out of earshot of the mercenaries when his plan had included stealth. Perhaps even now, Zari was boarding the aircraft, leaving everyone else here to die.

Shane squinted through the fading light. No, that doesn’t track. It didn't seem like the government official who had so brazenly taken over the scene at the mastaba to simply run away now. He may just be a politician, a man bent on getting his way, but he certainly had the confidence of a man who had military experience and knew how to use it.

He's around here somewhere, Shane decided. Now, I just need to find⁠—

"Hey," a woman's voice said calmly, as if running into him at the park. "Can I have one of those?"

Shane rolled his eyes, also rolling onto his back and looking up at Natia. In the waning strands of daylight, her figure cut a very precise shape.

One that was striking to Shane. Arousing, even.

He swallowed, shaking his head, trying to force the thoughts away. He was fighting against evolution, but this was really not the time.

He tossed her one of the assault rifles he had grabbed, then the extra magazine. "Use it wisely."

She nodded, checking the rifle and wiping off some sand that had gotten around the trigger.

"I heard you yell up there, so I figured you were running the other way, trying to distract those guys and keep Swain and Isaiah safe. How'd you find me, anyway?" Shane asked.

She shrugged. "It was obvious. I knew where you would be."

Shane rolled his eyes again, wondering if this time they actually would get stuck up there, but offered a cheeky grin. "Am I that predictable?"

"No," she said as she marched up next to him and aimed down the barrel of the rifle toward the battle. "You're even more predictable."

CHAPTER 53

JACK

Jack listened to the pounding sounds of gunshots as the mercenaries from the cult fired in all directions. The noise was deafening, a chaotic symphony of violence echoing off the ancient stones around them. He had no choice but to sit and wait next to Isaiah.

The kid was trembling, tears streaming down his cheeks, leaving streaks in the dust and dirt that had settled there. Jack felt the way the kid looked, though he did a good job of not showing it. He needed to hold it together, if only for the young man next to him. He didn't know when he started feeling a fatherly instinct toward him, but he did now. As strange as it was, he felt responsible for the young archaeologist.

Not that he could actually do anything about the men shooting at them…

Natia and Shane were obviously meant for this sort of thing, while Jack and Isaiah were not. Whatever Zari had intended had gone to hell quickly, and he didn't know where the government official was now.

But he did know three of the four soldiers Zari had come with were dead. There was the chopper pilot, but Jack doubted he was also one of Zari's henchmen. The pilot might be able to point-and-shoot, but Jack doubted Zari would put him up to the task. He was likely their only pilot, and thus their Zari al-Basir’s chance at flying everyone out of here — if they ever got the chance.

He’d watched the third soldier, all alone at the top end of the dune, fall just moments earlier. The man had put up a fight—taking down two of the mercenaries alone—before succumbing to three more mercenaries making their way around two sides of him. He had only been able to be covered by a single globular fracture of stone, and even then, it left too much exposed. The scene replayed in Jack's mind, the soldier's desperate attempt to survive and the ruthless efficiency with which he was taken down.

Jack winced as the younger soldier screamed, going down quickly. He hoped it had been quick. While the soldier had been part of Zari's crew, and Zari did not seem to have their best interests at heart, Jack also knew the man was doing a job. The soldier was just doing his part as well. He didn't deserve this—none of them did.

Well, perhaps the cultists.

Jack winced again as he realized all of the bullets were smacking into ancient structures, once more revealing stone earthworks and buildings that had likely taken civilization decades to construct. These modern weapons might not be strong enough to completely destroy all of the ancient site, but they weren't helping either. Each bullet, each impact, felt like a direct hit to Jack's soul. He agonized over the loss of pictograms and hieroglyphs that would be potentially still readable on some surfaces, knowing that each one was a piece of history, a story now lost forever.

He also remembered the gunmen emerging seemingly from out of the ground itself. He knew it meant there was a staircase somewhere further back in the site, one that led underground. He didn't know what it meant, and had no way of knowing what it could be, but he did know one thing: he wanted to go down there. Wanted to see inside. The idea of an untouched part of history, hidden beneath the sand and stone, was too tantalizing to ignore.

He knew Shane had dragged him and Isaiah down with him so they’d have a chance at getting to the stairs, but he couldn’t possibly do that now. They were being shot at!

Shane could have easily just left them at the top of the dune, where they were arguably safer. Sure, Zari and his men were still up there somewhere, but he doubted the government man would simply kill him and Isaiah for no reason. Shane must have had a plan, some strategy to get them to safety or to give them a fighting chance.

That had to be it, then. Shane's snap judgment had given him the idea to bring Jack and Isaiah down here so they might be able to work their way closer to the obvious opening in the ground. Jack realized then he was not helping the situation by sitting here. Shane and Natia were somewhere out there, fighting back, but also providing the distraction Jack and Isaiah needed to move into the city itself. He turned to Isaiah, who had wiped his eyes and was taking long, deep breaths. They were ragged, but he was doing a good job staying calm. His hands were no longer trembling, and his eyes were steady.

"We have to make it farther in," Jack said, his voice steady but urgent. “This is the best shot we’re going to get. Shane and Natia can’t hold them back or distract them forever.”

Isaiah nodded, his resolve hardening. "I know."

Jack reached out, squeezed the younger man's shoulder, and said, "I'm right here with you. Let's just leapfrog to the next stone wall, and then the next. They’ll recognize you, but they’ll also recognize me. And so far, they've only wanted to kidnap me, not kill me outright. As long as we stay close, I'm betting they'll know not to shoot at us."

Hoping they'll know that, anyway. But he didn't voice his concern, not wanting to add to Isaiah's fear.

"After you, Professor," Isaiah said, his voice stronger than before.

Jack saw the young man for what he was then—scared, youthful, but also strong-willed and confident. No, this was neither of their elements, but Jack could borrow the strength this young man clearly had in spades. He smiled warmly at the kid, then turned and ducked around the side of the stone wall, ready to make their move.

CHAPTER 54

JACK

As Jack and Isaiah reached the center of the semi-excavated ancient site, the battle around them had turned to one of attrition. The cultists on one side had realized their ammunition was not unlimited, and their enemy was better trained than they thought. The pulsing rhythm of the rifles had shifted to a far more sporadic, spaced tempo. Many seconds passed between shots fired, and it was hard to tell who was shooting at whom.

Jack knew his team was on the perimeter—Shane and Natia were somewhere fighting back, doing their best to keep the mercenaries corralled inside the site, but also not wanting to harm him and Isaiah. It was only a matter of time before a stray round caught one of them, and Jack didn't want to be above ground any longer than necessary.

He glanced around, noticing Isaiah doing the same. He turned to the younger man. "Any ideas? We just need to get⁠—"

Isaiah began to respond, but both were cut off by rounds slapping the stone directly above their heads. Jack cursed, then continued, "We need to get around this last structure. It looks like it could be another mastaba, judging by the rounded walls and flat top."

Isaiah turned and looked, noticing the structure. Jack had seen it from the top of the dune. It was by far the largest building in the immediate area, but also the one that had suffered the most damage over time. Almost all of the ceiling had collapsed inward, piles of sand and rubble filling up the interior. If there was anything to excavate there, it would need to be done with the meticulous hand of trained archaeologists. Unlike the previous mastaba they'd entered, this one was nothing more than four broken walls in the shape of the tomb Jack knew had originally been there.

Still, it would offer decent cover for the last leg of their small mission. They needed to go west, to the opposite end of the mastaba, where he'd seen the soldiers and mercenaries emerge. There he would find a staircase leading down to… something.

Even in the midst of the cacophony of war, Jack found himself intrigued by the possibilities. The Egyptians were master architects, and though the geology of the country differed in places, certain regions allowed for building underground as well. Unlike other areas of the world, it was possible to build basements in some regions here, and the ancient Egyptians had known that as well. Risks included reaching the water table, where obviously no building could be done without the use of elaborate pumps or ways to rid the site of water, and the ever-shifting landscape of a drying region.

He didn't know what they would find. He didn't know what the mercenaries had already found. But he was very excited to find out.

He had to admit, however, he was also very excited to get out of the fray. If there were more cultists underground even now, well, he felt that was still a better option than staying above ground, literally between two opposing forces trying to kill each other with assault rifles.

As long as they don’t still want to kill Isaiah.

With luck, there wouldn't be anyone left downstairs—he and Isaiah could have a few moments of relative peace, time to study what the ancients had built. And he also felt the twinkling of an idea. He had been right so far—finding ancient sites—though no pyramids—exactly where his hypothesis had led him.

He knew he didn't know exactly where they had flown after getting in the chopper, but judging by their position against the waning sun, he knew it was almost due south, which would have taken them to the western side of Memphis — Saqqara, as he’d predicted.

He couldn't tell how far they traveled, but judging by the size of this site and the implication that so much more lay beneath the dunes around it, he had to guess that this was the number one site on his map.

This could be it, he thought as he and Isaiah steeled themselves. The resting place of Osiris himself. Once again, there were no obvious pyramids poking out above the horizon, though that was to be expected at this point. Had there been a giant pyramid constructed here, it would no doubt have been discovered hundreds of years ago, or perhaps never lost at all.

Whatever pyramid was here—and Jack was now sure there was one—was either completely covered by sand and earth or had completely collapsed to the point of being no more than a pile of rubble covered by the same sand.

Isaiah tugged at him. "Let's go," he said softly.

Jack nodded, rolling forward and finding his feet. He stayed in a crouch for a moment, waiting for Isaiah to do the same. Together, the two men ran sideways against the wall they were on until it was no more, and Jack felt vulnerable for the few seconds before launching himself over the edge of the deteriorating wall of the mastaba. He landed inside, softly, on a pile of sand. He rolled out of the way as Isaiah did the same.

Laying on his back, the gunfire seemed quieter here, much of the noise drowned out by the rock walls surrounding them. But the battle was far from over. He wondered if Shane and Natia were actively shooting or simply moving around, pretending they were a larger force than just two people.

He also wondered where Zari might be. Had he gone back to the chopper with his men? Had they returned and joined the battle, fighting the cultists with Shane and Natia? He didn't have time to ponder. Isaiah tugged at him again and pointed west, over the last wall between them and the descent into the ancient Egyptian underworld.

He quelled the adrenaline, allowing it to be replaced by excitement for what might lie beneath their feet. Finally, he swallowed and looked at Isaiah. "On you."

Isaiah didn't hesitate. The younger man, lithe and athletic, ran over the soft sand mound and dove over the back wall. Jack followed suit, albeit a bit slower. He lunged over the back wall, surprised to find the ground behind it lower than the ground inside, and nearly fell on his face as his front leg stretched the extra foot to the ground.

But he caught his balance, slid his back leg over the wall, and balanced and rested on his feet and hands.

Only then did he look up, watching Isaiah take the stairs down. He didn't want to be left behind—in fact, he wished he were first—but he collected himself nonetheless and approached the stairway.

Another pulse from an assault rifle rang out, close to him, but he didn't care. He was about to embark on another journey. One only the most elite of Egyptian royals undertook. Like Osiris and all the others before him, like all the other ancients before him, he was descending into a place governed and ruled by Osiris, guided downward by the god-man.

The steps were wide, perhaps three feet each, and not tall. He guessed six or eight inches, but the staircase itself was broad—about eight feet across from side to side. He stepped forward and down, his head now at the height of the ground he had come from. The structure holding the stairs in place was an archway, though the corners of it had chipped and given it a ragged look. Sand and stone fell from the surface over the archway, which had been overgrown by hard, dry grasses and weeds.

There was light down below—the mercenaries had set up some sort of light rig down here already, and for that he was grateful. He still had the small flashlight—the government group had not decided to remove it from him—but that would make their progress slow, only being able to illuminate a few feet around him at any given time. Isaiah was six feet in front of him, and it almost reached the floor.

There, he stopped, and turned slowly to face Jack.

The professor swallowed again, his desire and anticipation getting the best of him.

"Professor," Isaiah said, “you’re not going to believe this. This is incredible."

CHAPTER 55

JACK

Reaching the floor of the subterranean caverns was like entering a time machine and landing in another world, in another era. Where above, the ruins were exactly that—the ruined, dilapidated remains of what had once been a grand city—down here the space was nearly immaculate.

Sure, thousands of years had passed, and the paintings on all the walls surrounding Jack had lost much of their luster and sheen, but they were still legible, very much present.

He recognized many of the glyphs that began as soon as the staircase ended and he entered the antechamber of whatever this space had been. He saw depictions of pharaohs crossing the chasm, entering the underworld, and of Osiris leading them by hand down a river. The boats matched those found at other sites, accurate representations of the types built by ancient Egyptians.

Isaiah stood in the center of the antechamber, on a colorful painted stone floor. It had been scuffed, and plenty of sand and stone pieces littered the floor around him, but the mercenaries had done a fine job cleaning most of it away. Jack guessed this stairway had been blocked, lost to time, until his work uncovered this site and the mercenaries stole it, found it, and began reopening the ancient vault.

He had seen large stones rolled away from the area above, likely placed in front of the stairs to guard the secret of its existence. Wheelbarrows, buckets, and shovels he'd seen the mercenaries using when they first arrived were obviously used to remove the smaller stones and piles of sand from the stairs themselves.

He saw the source of the illumination as well. A work light had been set up on a pole stand, battery-powered. He also saw a generator, though it was in the corner and not turned on. He guessed it supplied power to a battery charger so the cultists would have the ability to work farther inside the structure without worrying about fumes from the gas generator, recharging their lights' batteries as needed.

Two shovels leaned against the wall in the corner of the room, with two buckets laying in front of them. Both buckets were filled with sand, as if an assembly line of mercenaries had been working hard and had nearly completed their job of cleaning this room before Jack and the others arrived.

"What do you think?" Isaiah asked, a smile on his face. He stood in front of the light, blocking the brightness from Jack's eyes, making him nothing but a black silhouette.

Jack returned the smile. "It's incredible. I've never seen anything like it that wasn't a recreation. The colors… I can't believe how vibrant they are."

"It was likely sealed, probably airtight. Though it will start breaking down almost immediately now that it’s open. I wouldn't be surprised if a year or two from now the colors fade and look much like the other unsealed tombs we know of."

Jack nodded. "Do you think it's a tomb?"

He did not, but he did want to get Isaiah's opinion. Though the kid seemed naïve and lacked any sort of military training, Jack knew he wasn't here for that reason. He was a trained archaeologist—still in school and a bit wet behind the ears, but he was a smart kid nonetheless, and would have done fine in Jack's program.

Isaiah shook his head, frowning as he stepped away from the light and toward Jack. "It's not, almost certainly not. There are no signs that this was a tomb, though this space could be an antechamber for something like that."

"But you don't think we'll find a tomb farther down?"

"There's a mastaba right next door," Isaiah continued. "That's where I would guess we'd find many mummified remains, under the fallen roof and the sand that’s snuck in. Sarcophagi, that sort of thing. This space—this is much more than a tomb. I believe it's a reverent invocation of Osiris, of the gods the Egyptians worshiped. It's meant as a religious antechamber, not to bury the dead and seal it up forever but to remember those past."

Jack agreed. "I think you're right," he said. "Though it doesn't exactly fit the mold of what we know of ancient Egyptian sites, that only implies we're in a space far more important than anything we've found before. It was very obviously built and decorated by the ancient Egyptians, and clearly mentions Osiris leading people—pharaohs, I presume—into the underworld."

"I noticed that," Isaiah said. "And that seems odd to me. I've seen the depictions of pharaohs. Not sure I'd be able to pick out who they are just yet, but it is strange that it's not the same pharaoh each time. This place was not built for one pharaoh, for one royal."

"I noticed that as well. It seems to be a communal space, something built for all royals, for anyone who might need to travel through the underworld."

"Did you notice that?" Isaiah said, stepping to the side and pointing at the back corner of the room.

Jack had not had a chance to examine the space, and the spot Isaiah pointed at was hidden behind the bright light of the fixture in the center of the room. Now, as he examined the back corner of the room, opposite the stairs they entered, he saw it.

A door.

The intricate paintings of pharaohs crossing the chasm and entering the underworld continued, though there was a very obvious rectangular shape cut out there.

Isaiah was walking toward it, and Jack couldn't help himself. He picked up his pace, hoping to reach it before Isaiah. It wasn't purposeful, it was involuntary. Jack was beside himself with glee, in disbelief. He wanted to see it, to feel it, first.

But before both men could reach the doorway, Jack heard a loud, deep resonant thunk sound, and then the door itself began slowly pushing outward.

Jack reached a hand up and stopped Isaiah, but there was no need. Isaiah had already stopped, and Jack noticed him staring, wide-eyed, at the door as it opened.

It was made of stone, sliding forward on some massive, hidden hinge, and it had been constructed flawlessly. A grinding sound emanated next as the hinge mechanics met with some resistance from sand or debris from the passage of time and not having been used in so long. But down here, not using metal or anything corrosive, Jack was not surprised the door held up. If it had been fashioned from stone, even without regular oiling, the heavy slab would still move with enough force behind it.

It swung toward them, and Jack stepped to the side, trying to see beyond.

Only once it opened fully could he see who was behind it.

When he did, his heart sank.

CHAPTER 56

SHANE

Together, Shane and Natia worked their way around the excavation site, picking off the less-trained cultists as they went. Natia did a good job leading them from one spot to the next, keeping the higher ground while also ensuring there was a difficult angle for the mercenaries to fire back from.

When they reached the north side of the site, standing halfway up the front side of the dune, they were able to see that they'd gotten the enemy down to three. Then, Shane had motioned to Natia, letting her know he was going to split off and flank them. She'd nodded in return, and together they worked diagonally toward the last three mercenaries, helpfully grouped together toward the center of the site.

Jack and Isaiah had reached the mastaba and then the stairs only moments earlier, and Shane watched as both men lunged over the last wall between them and the staircase, where they'd entered and finally disappeared underground. Shane let out a sigh of relief then, knowing half their battle was over—getting both civilians to safety.

None of them knew what lay beneath their feet, and while there could be an entire army of cultists down there, Shane figured that was unlikely—whoever was in charge would have sent all the mercenaries up to face Shane and Natia to try to remove them from play.

After Natia picked off one of the mercenaries who dared to poke his head up above the stone wall he was hiding behind, Shane used the distraction to run into the middle of the excavation site, near where Isaiah and Jack had hidden earlier. From there, it was short work to dispatch the final two mercenaries and end the battle.

Shane wanted to follow Jack and Isaiah down into the subterranean structure, but he waited for Natia, who had gone back up the dune, looked over its back edge, and then came back down to join Shane.

"No sign of the government guys," she said.

"Zari's gone?" Shane asked.

She nodded. "But the chopper is still there—I could see it way off in the distance. Maybe they're all waiting inside, biding their time and letting all of us kill each other off before coming back."

Shane nodded. That made more sense to him than Zari simply leaving—Zari definitely didn't seem the type to run headfirst into battle when he had perfectly good subordinates to die for him, and he seemed to value his life more than that of his subordinates’.

But it still seemed strange. Zari had been here earlier, up on the dune with them, seemingly ready to go the moment the battle kicked off. That he'd retreated, whispering hushed instructions to one of his underlings, seemed strange.

Perhaps Zari had called in more support — that was a problem Shane didn’t want to deal with.

But Shane shrugged it off. They could figure out what Zari was up to later. Right now, they needed to get down and see what Jack and Isaiah were up to.

Natia joined him, and they descended the stairs together, with plenty of space on either side as they walked side-by-side down the shallow, long stairs. Shane marveled at the engineering quality of even just this staircase, which ostensibly was not meant to be part of the final attraction. He knew the Egyptians to have been fine builders, engineers capable of incredible monuments—quite obvious considering the Great Pyramid of Giza was the tallest building for most of ancient history, superseded only in modern times.

But everything seemed so perfectly configured, hand-carved walls hewn from the stone ground itself.

When they reached the bottom, Shane heard Jack and Isaiah talking, both peeking out over what they were seeing. He heard mention of pharaohs, invocations of gods, even the word Osiris. Did that mean they were onto something here? Did that mean they were close to their final goal, finding proof of Osiris's human existence?

Natia reached the floor just before Shane, and he heard her gasp as she took in their surroundings.

His eyes widened as he reached the chamber where Jack and Isaiah stood. They were near the center of the room, still discussing, when he heard a deep thud ring out from somewhere deep below. Shane gripped the weapon stolen from the government soldier tighter, expecting an attack or an explosion, but none came.

Instead, before Isaiah and Jack even noticed them or acknowledged their presence, he saw movement from the far side of the room, on the other side of a tall work lamp that had been erected near the center of the space.

It was a door.

And it was opening.

Shane held his rifle up, ready for anything now. Though he had not expected an ancient Egyptian site to have a working stone door, he certainly hadn't expected someone to be inside, opening it.

But it swung open nonetheless, and Jack and Isaiah peered around the side. Shane wanted to warn them, tell them to step back and let him and Natia handle this. But there was no time. Jack moved to the side, trying to get a better view, and the door opened fully, revealing inky blackness.

And then the barrel of a rifle. And another.

Two men stepped out, holding the same assault rifles Shane gripped in his own hands.

A voice echoed from behind the two men, deep but not as gravelly as Zari's. It also had a much different accent, one out of place here in the Egyptian desert. It sounded European, perhaps even Eastern European. Almost Russian, in some sense. Some of the words were stilted, forced, like English was not even a second language but maybe a third or fourth.

Yet the words themselves were impossible to misunderstand.

"Put your weapons down," the man said. "And then I will invite you to join us inside."

CHAPTER 57

SHANE

Shane made a move as though he was going to fire, but Natia held him back with a hand on his shoulder. He looked at her through his peripheral vision. She shook her head, ever so slightly.

"I will only ask one more time," the man with the thunderous voice, still hidden in the depths of the new chamber that had just opened, said. "I assure you, we do not need all of you for the next part of this mission."

Shane squinted. The next part? All of us?

Whoever this man was, Shane knew he would be the leader of the cult calling itself the Order of Ascension. Though he hadn't seen the man yet, he could picture him easily: a tall, fit man with dark skin, or at least black salt-and-pepper hair.

Maybe even bald.

Yeah, he's definitely bald, Shane thought. He pictured the actor from The Mummy—the original awesome one, not the Tom Cruise travesty.

He noticed Natia putting her weapon down, slowly and overtly, so she didn't spook any of the two mercenaries pointing their own weapons at her. Shane followed suit, reluctantly placing his weapon on the floor. He wasn't as careful or as obvious about his actions, not caring much for what the mercenaries felt about him.

If they had wanted him dead, he would already be dead.

Once their weapons were on the floor, one of the men strode over and kicked them backward toward the other, then returned and picked them up. He handed both to someone out of sight, still hidden behind the door.

Shane heard rattling and quiet voices in Arabic just past the door, and he realized that it wasn't the entrance to a closet, a smaller room, but a much larger space or hallway—it sounded like voices were far away. They weren't whispers, though they were no louder than someone whispering.

It also told him that the intense, intimidating bald guy was not alone.

The man spoke again, still hidden from sight. "I'm glad you are here, actually," he said. "Ever since reading your papers, Professor Swain, I've been dying to meet you."

Shane looked at Jack, whose pale face revealed all the terror he knew he and Isaiah were feeling. For his part, the younger civilian looked terrified but also spent, as if he'd cried his last tear, shaken his last shiver, and worried about his last nightmare. He had nothing left. He was defeated, deflated.

"I didn't believe it at first, your hypothesis. It seemed too good to be true. Too obvious."

Shane thought he saw the professor nodding in agreement.

"But come in here, you'll see that you were exactly right—you are so right it will rewrite history. Everything we know will be different."

Suddenly, a man stepped into view.

Shane’s mouth fell open.

This was not the bald, strapping actor from The Mummy — or anything remotely close to it.

The man who’d appeared from the opposite of the open door was pale, almost sickly looking. He was pudgy in all the wrong places. Jowls that hung down over his fat chin, with skin like a smoker's, thin and semi-opaque, complete with bloodshot eyes.

He wasn't bald, but balding. Wispy strands of reddish-blonde hair poked out in every direction.

And he was short, far shorter than Shane imagined a grown human male should be. He pictured the short man who’d sat next to him on one of the flights here—the guy in front of him now gave the passenger a run for his money.

He must not have been taller than five-and-a-half feet, and though it wasn't absurd, it certainly stood in stark contrast to the tall, wiry cult followers standing on either side of him.

He wore a ragged smile, and Shane thought he saw a missing tooth somewhere in the disgusting maw. He wore a polo shirt, unbuttoned all the way, revealing somehow even more hair on the man's chest than was on his head. A diving watch twinkled on his wrist, loose and sagging like his skin.

His pants were dirtied and wrinkled, with pockets all over that seemed to be filled with tools or instruments of some sort.

Shane knew a closet adventurer when he saw one, and this man fit every stereotype. He had the equipment and desire to be a real-life Indiana Jones, but his mind was writing checks his body couldn't cash. He seemed haggard, worn, though there was a sense of venom behind his eyes, a hardness that Shane knew had been earned.

If he had to guess, this man was putting on a display of being soft, malleable, when in fact he had lived a hard-fought and hard-won life.

"My sister couldn't make it, of course," he continued, as if everyone knew who his sister was. "But I've already informed her of what we've found down here. At least, I sent someone to inform her. I wonder what became of them?"

He raised an eyebrow, quizzically, as if pretending he didn't have an idea of what happened to the cultists that lay dead above their heads.

"What is this all about?" Natia asked. "Osiris? You call yourselves the Order of Ascension, but you worship Osiris. Why?"

There was a look of confusion on one of the faces standing next to the leader, but it disappeared instantaneously. The leader smiled, revealing more of his sickly yellow teeth. "Right, that. Just a simple organization with a simple goal. To identify lost pieces of history, and cement their place once again in the historic repertoire."

Historic repertoire? What was this guy on about? Shane thought. His crazed look had morphed into more of the same hardened intensity he'd flashed before.

"In truth, my sister is just quite zealous. I must say… I am as well. But I think we’ve put our family's fortune to good use, looking for places just like this."

Shane could see Natia wasn't buying any of it, but she didn't press him. Stalling, he realized.

"I hear there's another one here," he said, changing subjects. “General Zari al-Basir? The government official?"

General, Shane thought. Interesting.

Isaiah and Jack nodded, but Natia answered aloud. "We haven't seen him in a while. We all arrived in his chopper, though. He's around somewhere."

This seemed to surprise the man. "Not dead, then? Fascinating.”

Shane wondered how Zari fit into all of this. Perhaps he was just the government official he claimed to be—working for the Ministry of Antiquities, running a contingent of Central Security Forces, most of whom had met their demise next to the dune above.

"Never mind that,” the man said, waving it away. “My men will take care of him. I want to show you something."

Shane stepped forward, but one of the man's soldiers marched up to him and Natia and held their weapons out. The first man turned to look at his leader, awaiting orders.

"Yes, right. I forgot to mention that," he said. "We don't actually need all of you. Or did I already mention that? Nevertheless," he said with a shake of his head, while turning to walk back into the interior of the subterranean structure. "Keep them alive, but make sure they can't go anywhere. We might need them later, especially if General al-Basir returns."

Immediately the two soldiers began their work, one smartly holding back, his weapon raised, while the other marched toward Shane once more and pulled out a pair of handcuffs from his back pocket.

"I thought they were supposed to use rope," Shane mumbled.

"This isn't the movies, Riley," Natia said.

No, it certainly wasn't. And handcuffs were a far better option—neither he nor Natia had a key, and they were much easier and quicker—not to mention far more secure—than a simple strand of paracord.

The soldier didn't bother putting Shane's hands behind his back like an arrested convict. When he finished, he stepped back, admiring his work. Shane's wrists already felt strained against the metal, as the mercenary had been careful to lift his sleeves for perfect skin-cuff contact.

Shane growled. He wasn't going anywhere.

Natia fared no better, even eliciting a small groan as the man buckled the second pair of cuffs around her wrists. He thought she might be faking it, but it looked painful. Her fists were balled, white-knuckled, her teeth gritted even tighter.

At least we're still standing and our feet are free, Shane thought. Maybe they won't⁠—

His heart sank as he saw the third and fourth set of handcuffs appear from behind the door. Jack and Isaiah were pushed out of the way by a third and fourth mercenary as well, and the leader of the group took their place inside the doorway once more, hidden from view. "Please hurry," he said with obvious disdain. "We do not have all day."

The third and fourth mercenary walked up to them while the first and second resumed pointing their weapons at Shane and Natia, and Shane felt his feet and ankles bound together with the other set of cuffs.

Well, there goes that idea.

If Natia had a way out, she wasn't revealing anything. Her face was passive, unreadable.

Isaiah looked terrified still, but there was more life in his face now. It seemed he had gotten over his stupor and shock from before, and was now actively crying. Tears streamed down his face as he watched the mercenaries binding the only two allies he had who were capable of fighting for their lives.

The third mercenary finished Shane's feet and stood up, then turned and stared at Isaiah. His eyes lingered for a moment, and Shane watched Isaiah's expression. If they recognized each other, Shane couldn't tell. But it was an odd glance, one that suggested the mercenary did know who the young man was.

It reminded him once more of the question he thought since Isaiah had stumbled into Jason's pub.

What does the kid have to do with all this?

But that question wouldn't be answered now. The leader of the group was still inside the hallway beyond, and he called for the professor and Isaiah to follow him. Two of the mercenaries went first, then Jack and Isaiah, followed by the last two mercenaries.

Ten seconds later, Shane and Natia were alone in the antechamber, their hands and feet bound in metal cuffs.

Shane turned to face Natia, really hoping she had a plan.

"So, Mr. Riley," she began with a sigh. "Any bright ideas?"

CHAPTER 58

JACK

Jack couldn't contain his excitement. He nearly stumbled as he walked, anxious to get to the end of the hallway, wherever it led. And while it was indeed a hallway, it was also sloping downward, he guessed at the same angle as the sloping chambers inside the Great Pyramid of Giza. He had little else to compare it to, but it seemed the same grade. It was difficult going, as though there were stairs every eight feet. Because of the angle, each step was a drop of about three feet.

It was also far narrower than the stairs leading down into the antechamber they had been in earlier. While the ceiling was high—13 or 14 feet—if he stretched both arms out to the walls on either side of him, he wouldn't even have to straighten them all the way before touching. If it weren't for the high ceilings, the place would be downright claustrophobic.

They descended for 20 minutes. Though the leader of the mercenaries seemed just as eager as Jack to get to the bottom, he also didn't want to risk slowing down further by having one of his men or himself get injured.

He and Isaiah weren't treated roughly, but it was clear they were prisoners. Any hesitation, any stopping, resulted in one of the mercenaries bumping the stock or the barrel of his rifle against their backs. It was annoying, but what else could Jack do? At least they hadn't tied his hands or feet like they had Natia and Shane.

He wondered what they were doing upstairs if Natia and Shane had once again found a way out. Shane Riley seemed rather useless comparatively. Though he was strong as an ox and could hold his own in a firefight, he didn't seem nearly as resourceful as the trained assassin with him.

But neither was with Jack and Isaiah now—they were all alone. He hoped their life depended on using their minds rather than muscle, but judging by the four mercenaries walking with the leader, he doubted their minds alone would be able to get them out of this pickle.

But they were still alive, at least for now. Isaiah had calmed down a bit, putting his mind on the task at hand, which was reaching the bottom of the long descending hallway. Jack scuffled over the next ledge, turned around to his stomach, then let himself fall. He figured this way was easier about three steps ago, and no one seemed to argue with him. In fact, one of the mercenaries was now copying him, turning around fully before landing on his feet at the next level.

"Have you been down here already?" Jack asked the leader.

The leader of the mercenary group seemed surprised at first, but then answered. "Yes, we have. I've got more men down there working on it."

"On… what, exactly?"

The man seemed annoyed but still answered Jack's question. "There's another door. An archway shape, though it's obvious it's hiding another room. We believe the Tomb of Osiris is beyond this door."

Jack frowned. Archways weren't used much in ancient Egyptian temple architecture, mainly because it was a massive undertaking to carve curved angles into stone when scoring them and snapping a straight line was much easier. And when dealing with multi-thousand-ton blocks of stone as building blocks for ancient sites, straight lines saved decades of time.

That said, the ancient Egyptians never seemed to care much for time-saving techniques—if they had, why build massive pyramids in the first place?

"You're sure there's a tomb behind that door?" Jack asked.

The man stopped, turned around, and pointed a flashlight directly into Jack's face. "I'm not sure of anything until I lay eyes on it," he snapped. “But why wouldn't there be? This is, after all, a tomb. Wouldn't you agree?"

Jack looked at Isaiah, who answered for him. "Actually, sir. We're not convinced of that. It seems⁠—"

“Call me Clive,” he said. "And while I appreciate your input, Isaiah, I asked the professor for his opinion."

Jack straightened up. "I feel the same way as Isaiah, Clive. There is no evidence to suggest this was a tomb. Yes, there was an antechamber, but it was far more ornate, far more well-decorated than anything we've ever seen."

"Just because it has not had a chance to deteriorate like other ancient sites," Clive said, “does not mean it's not a tomb. Did you find evidence to the contrary?"

"Admittedly, no," Jack said. "But I haven't had time to investigate fully. Some of the depictions on the walls—the hieroglyphs and pictographs—seem to tell a story suggesting that this was not a tomb but almost like a church. A temple of sorts. One⁠—"

"One built to honor the person buried here," Clive said, his voice confident, sure. "Osiris himself. Come on, as I've said, we don't have much time."

"Why is that?" Jack asked, now feeling more confident that he wouldn't simply be shot on sight for asking a question. "You keep mentioning not much time. Are you worried this place is going to fall apart? Or are you worried about Zari al-Basir?”

Clive didn't turn but chuckled as he walked toward the next ledge and began hopping down. "No, this site has been here for many thousands of years and will remain long after we're gone. And the old general is a non-issue. But you of all people should understand, Professor. It's not the machinations of humans here on earth that concern me, but the machinations of the gods. The celestial bodies above us, the endless onslaught of time, marching onward until this very moment."

Jack frowned. What the hell is this guy going on about?

"I must confess, though I am an archaeologist, I'm not an astronomer. What do you mean, ‘celestial bodies?’”

At this, Clive stopped fully. He turned around once more, again shining his flashlight directly into Jack's and Isaiah's faces. "Oh, my dear professor. It's too late to bring you up to speed fully. But suffice to say, we've been searching for this site for many years."

Jack sensed the other shoe was about to drop. A revelation that would change everything.

"Have you ever wondered why these sites were built when they were built?" Clive asked. "Of course, you have, stupid question. But really, have you truly considered the timing? You claim this place is not a tomb; I say it is. Time will tell, time that we don't have much of. But even if it is a tomb, it was clearly built for a particular reason in addition to housing the remains of Osiris the man. If not, then it was certainly built for another reason.

“I suggest thinking back through your research, Professor. Ask yourself the question, why did it have to happen when it did? In fact, if it wasn't a tomb, then why was it built when it was built? You don't think the ancient people here simply decided to build a church—or whatever you think this is—one morning? That they woke up and said, ‘let us build a place of worship, for no other reason than we just feel like it.’”

"What are you getting at?"

"You said it yourself, in your unpublished manuscript. You believe the constellation Orion was reflected on earth, right here in Egypt, right here where we stand in this very moment — the head of Osiris, is it not?”

Jack nodded.

“But you also suggested that the sites were placed where they were placed because they represent not just the constellation in space, but the exact time in space when that constellation looked the way it did."

Jack understood this line of reasoning. He remembered when Natia—under the guise of Cynthia Venetucci—had asked him to answer for this. Why the pyramids of Giza were a close match to the belt stars of Orion, but slightly off if placed alongside or superimposed on top of a celestial map of Orion's belt. Astronomers had claimed this imperfection meant the Giza Pyramids had not been laid out according to an astral projection, but just placed where they were because of some other, unknown reason.

Jack had long thought that to be a lazy and uninspired answer and suggested—alongside a handful of other Egyptologists who had been disgraced or simply laughed at—that the Giza pyramids were placed according to the Orion belt stars as they existed at a particular moment in time—many thousands of years in the past.

Is that what Clive was getting at here? Could he be referring to a specific time in the past?

"I can see on your face you're getting close to the answer," Clive continued, once more turning around and continuing downward. "But I assure you, it is not the past you're after."

Jack frowned as he walked forward toward the next step.

"Instead, you should have looked into the future, Jack. When will those stars realign? When will the constellation Orion look exactly the same as it did when these places were built?"

CHAPTER 59

JACK

"Clive, I'm sorry—I don't mean to sound belittling, but you can't expect me to believe something will happen because the stars are aligned a certain way?"

They’d reached the bottom of the descending shaft—finally—and Jack stood in near-complete darkness. Clive's flashlight bounced around, as did the beams from two of the other mercenaries who had come down with them. Isaiah and Jack stood in the center of another antechamber-like room. Jack only got a glimpse of their surroundings, but it seemed to be almost the antithesis of the room above.

Blank, dark stone walls surrounded them, and the ceiling was lower. If he stretched his arms upward, he could barely graze the top of this room. Behind Clive, he saw another passageway—this one about the size of the doorway that led into it. Clive hadn't shone his light in that direction, but Jack thought he could see a bit of a yellow glow from the end of it. Perhaps that was where Clive's other men, his cult followers, were currently working, where he said he found the arched doorway leading to Osiris's tomb.

"Don't be ridiculous," Clive said. "The stars themselves have no bearing on our earthly endeavors. I'm merely suggesting they are a giant, celestial clock. Because, well, they are."

Jack nodded. He knew this much to be true—as confusing as it could be for the uninitiated to look up at the stars and imagine them all following individual patterns, they absolutely did, and many ancient civilizations pieced together those exact patterns, forming a picture of what the stars and celestial bodies looked like on any given day, in any given year.

This had gone on for millennia, many of these patterns repeating over certain periods of time. Besides stray objects that also follow their own patterns and intercept the sky, like comets, shooting stars, and any other unidentified objects seen by the naked eye, it was possible just by looking at twinkles of light to know exactly where someone was and when.

He’d also studied the theories of researchers who had gone before, piecing together time frames for when sites like the Sphinx may have been built. Egyptologists commonly suggested the date of somewhere in the 2,500s BC, but Jack believed it was far earlier. Water damage along the Sphinx's base on all sides suggested massive flooding, torrential rains that had not existed in that area of Egypt in the past 5,000 years. There were other signs as well, shafts in the Great Pyramid of Giza pointing directly to the locations of stars like Sirius and Orion.

Except they pointed to the positions of the stars as they existed 11,400 years ago.

The Sphinx was positioned facing due east to watch the sunrise, and on the summer solstice, the sun appeared directly in front of the Sphinx, almost perfectly positioned. Except only perfectly positioned during a very specific stretch of time when certain constellations appeared in front of it.

Jack suddenly stopped thinking and looked back at Clive.

"Oh my God," he said. "I just realized the date."

Clive smiled warmly, seeming genuinely glad Jack had come to this realization. "June 21," Clive said knowingly. "The summer solstice."

"The longest day of the year."

Isaiah's eyes widened. "I didn't consider it, either. It's not something modern life tends to care about. It's simply a mark on the calendar and forgotten."

“To the ancient Egyptians, however,” Clive said. "It was quite important."

"Yes, it represented the renewal of life, fertility, and the continuation of the cycle of life," Jack added.

"And according to the heavens, this particular is mirrored throughout history. While there’s a summer solstice every year, this stretch of about 150 years has the exact configuration of stars above that the ancients wanted us to see. This exact moment in time is marked in the skies above, every constellation in this exact place, as they existed exactly 11,400 years ago."

Jack was nodding along, growing more excited. "Right, so the ancients built these places to point to this exact moment in time. And while the constellations from then and now align almost perfectly, the summer solstice marks the terrestrial moment in time when…"

His voice drifted off, but Clive obviously wanted him to continue.

“…When something happens?" he asked.

Clive chuckled again. "Yes, something very important, indeed."

"What?" Isaiah asked.

Clive finally turned around and shone his light down the hallway. "When the Tomb of Osiris can be opened," he said quietly.

CHAPTER 60

JACK

When the Tomb of Osiris could be opened, Jack thought. What an idea.

If it were true — if this place was actually a tomb — then he knew Clive could be on to something.

The summer solstice had immense meaning to the ancient Egyptians, and he knew other monuments had been built to recognize that date. It could be possible that because of the sun’s location in the sky tomorrow, or certain stars’ placement tonight, a shaft inside this temple could somehow ‘unlock,’ allowing those inside to access secrets long sealed.

He forced his breathing to slow. They were still in danger — he didn’t trust Clive, and he sensed the cult followers didn’t, either. They’d been standoffish with him earlier, and seemingly didn’t understand English well enough for them to have formed a relationship. Sure, Clive spoke Arabic at least at a passing level, but it still didn’t seem as though they liked the leader of the Order of Ascension.

And that named bugged him. It didn’t seem like the sort of name a real cult would choose for themselves. Not that he was an expert, but if Jack wanted to start a cult, he decided he’d put a bit more thought into the name.

Perhaps Natia was more right than she’d realized. He wondered if Clive — and apparently his sister — had truly just bought this cult. Offered them money and riches and promises. It wasn’t out of the question. Obviously, the cult men were soldiers, or mercenaries, or at least young men who thought themselves one or the other. If they weren’t military-trained, it wouldn’t be impossible for a man with Clive’s apparent leadership skills and deep pockets to convince them to put him in charge.

He wondered what sort of promises he’d made to the group. Were they expecting to find Osiris here, to remove his body? Or did they just want proof of his existence?

Jack let the thoughts and questions linger as they continued onward.

At the end of this long, narrow hallway was another right-angle turn to the right, giving Jack the impression they were slowly descending and circling around the perimeter of a huge, square-shaped subterranean structure. It was hard to picture exactly what the space looked like, but he tried his best to keep a mental map as they moved.

There wasn't an antechamber here, per se. More like a simple foyer, a gathering spot before the intersection split and continued deeper into the structure. It was here the cult workers had set up another light and were hard at work...

…Completely destroying the façade in front of Jack.

"What are they doing?" Jack shouted upon seeing the devastation, the men with their huge sledgehammers pounding against the stone surface.

Bits of rock fell in heaps, already up to their ankles as another mercenary scooped bits of it into a wheelbarrow to move elsewhere.

Isaiah seemed just as shocked as Jack, though he didn't speak. Clive turned and addressed both of them. "Relax, it's just a little redecorating. We need to get in here. We need to see what is just past this door."

"How do you know it's a door?" Isaiah asked. "You said it was an archway—that's not common for Egyptian buildings like this, especially for an underground structure in a subterranean temple."

“There is no other building like this!” Clive shouted back. “You think this is all here for decoration?" Clive scoffed. "I say it's the way forward."

He turned around, likely to address the two men who had stopped pounding against the stone façade, but Jack reached out and pulled his arm back. Immediately, two mercenaries grabbed Jack and thrust him backward, nearly toppling him over completely.

He held his hands up in surrender but didn't stop arguing. "You're a fool if you think that," Jack spat. "Desecrating an ancient site like this makes you no better than any of the countless grave robbers who have no doubt scoured this place already. If it doesn't open easily, it's not a door."

"There's more to this place, Professor," Clive said, his own voice matching Jack's disgust. "And it is just like you academic types to come down here and lecture me on what is or isn't. I'll have you know I've performed plenty of excavations in my day, and⁠—"

"You mean like the one where you killed those people? North of Highway 221, outside of Giza?"

Clive turned and faced Isaiah, a look of shock and interest on his face.

"Yeah, we know all about that. And when Zari gets back, he's going to⁠—"

At this, Clive guffawed. “— Is going to what? He's going to arrest me? You think all of these men—loyal to my cause, to my goal—will let that happen? He came with what, four people last time? And they're all dead now, no?"

Isaiah swallowed, but Jack stepped forward, his arms still held by the mercenaries who had pulled him back. "You're still a fool, Clive," Jack said coolly. "You're a zealot. You admitted your sister was as well, but you're just a grave robber looking for treasure. You don't care if you find Osiris or not. There's no curse, no particular timeframe that will allow you to open this tomb. It's all a myth, a legend you cooked up, like the rest of your confused organization."

Jack wasn't sure if Clive was going to lash out then, the much shorter man swinging for his face, but instead, he took his empty palms and wiped sweat off of them on his polo shirt, then stepped up to Jack, meeting him toe to toe. He lowered his voice to a near whisper, and growled back at Jack. "You don't know what you're talking about, professor. You think you do, because you've read books and studied this. You think myths and legends are just that—fanciful stories told to get people excited. The truth is, I know the truth, I know the reality of what exists here, and why it's important. And I do know we are under a time crunch. Getting into this tomb is my life's work, and I intend to complete it this very day. Now, are you going to continue to get in my way?"

Jack shook his head.

"Great, then we will continue our work."

"No, you won't."

Clive raised an eyebrow and looked up at Jack. "Oh? And why is that, professor?"

Jack motioned with his head to the right, where in the recessed darkness he saw something similar to what he'd seen upstairs, far above their heads now.

"Because there's another way in."

CHAPTER 61

JACK

"What do you mean, you've found another way in?" Clive asked. He had stepped back from the door and the two men pounding away with their sledgehammers and turned to face Jack, his arms crossed.

"I mean exactly what I said," Jack replied. He turned to face Isaiah. "Do you have any guesses?"

"This is not the time for⁠—"

But Clive was cut off by Isaiah. "I do, actually. I mentioned previously that arches, and ones decorated like this, weren't used in most Egyptian construction for doors, and they would not have been used in a place like... this. Whatever it may be. I tend to agree with Jack that this is not a tomb but really an ancient religious site. Still, this arch is out of place. It's ornamental, decorative."

"Exactly why we must bust⁠—"

"No, it's purely decorative," Jack interrupted. He turned to Isaiah, allowing him to go on.

"Everything the Egyptians did is symbolic. Everything has meaning. Why would there be an ornamental façade such as this in a place like this? Not, I may add, up above, in the garish antechamber we all passed through after descending into the subterranean building. Not after the long, steep staircase, either. But instead, at the end of this hall, a rather unassuming place for such a decorative doorway."

Clive shook his head, exasperated.

Jack urged Isaiah on. "Because," he said, "it is meant to be a door only certain beings pass through."

Isaiah nodded excitedly. "Exactly. Beings who are no longer among the living. This is a doorway whose threshold is meant to be crossed only by those who have already passed into the underworld and entered the afterlife successfully, guided by Osiris on the journey."

"Right," Clive snapped. "A door for ghosts. Perfect. Shall we continue?"

Jack shook his head. "And any human entering would be stuck here, right? Not able to pass this way."

"That's exactly my point," Clive said, turning back to the mercenaries and their sledgehammers.

Jack held up a hand. "I didn't say not able to pass at all," he said. "I said not able to pass using this doorway. Instead, there's another doorway here."

Jack looked around the room, hoping he was right. He thought he had seen a glimpse of it in the corner, behind the light stand illuminating the elaborate archway that had been massacred by sledgehammers. Even still, after much of the façade had been cracked and broken, the painting falling away into heaps around the mercenaries' feet, it was hard see what had originally been there.

It was just as Isaiah had explained—pictographs of humans, descending into the underworld, then reemerging in the afterlife, passing through an archway just like the one they were staring at now. It literally told them what to expect.

It even had pictures of humans, likely those family members and friends still alive, standing outside the archway, unable to enter through this doorway.

He looked in the corner and pointed. "Over there. There's a door leading into the space you want to find."

"How do you know?" Clive snapped.

"Well, we entered one similar to it to come down here. This one's smaller, I predict. Again, you must think of the symbolism here. Humans built this place in honor and reverence of those who have gone before them. Up above, in the antechamber, you likely saw pictures of those humans building this place, the massive subterranean structure, and filling it with treasures and items meant to further serve the humans they were remembering."

"Yet I didn't see any treasure on the way down here," Clive said coldly.

Jack nodded. "Of course not—almost every site in Egypt has been picked clean now. But the point still stands: people built this place over the years. Any future king, wanting to pay homage to the memory of Osiris—whom you say is buried here—would bring treasures. Those treasures would have to be placed at the feet of Osiris. In this case, beneath his sarcophagus, at his feet.

“If what you say is true, that sarcophagus lies just beyond that archway. But only the dead can enter and exit through it. That means there's another doorway—a much lesser doorway, meant to be out of sight, tucked away, for those humans still living to enter. That's how they would bring their treasures into Osiris's chamber."

Jack watched Clive consider this. He chewed his lip for a moment, wondering if the small man had a large enough mind to realize the truth.

Finally, Clive snapped his fingers. He ordered two of his men to the wall in the corner of the chamber, just past the light fixture standing and pointing at the rest of them.

Jack held his breath. He really needed to be right.

It took only a few seconds, but as soon as one of the mercenaries turned the light to point into the corner, they all saw it.

Plain as day, now easily illuminated, there was a small rectangular indentation along the wall, abutting the corner of the room. It was far smaller than the one upstairs, but it was no doubt a door much like the one in the antechamber above. It would have been easy to miss, especially considering the massive archway looming nearby that attracted attention as soon as it came into view.

One of the mercenaries pushed on the smaller door, and it began moving inward easily, on a similar hinge as before.

Clive's eyes widened in appreciation. "I don't believe it..."

"It makes sense, though. Any human wanting to enter would have to kneel. To literally bow before Osiris, walking through this tiny doorway as an act of submission to the great God-King himself."

Jack noticed Isaiah was in awe as well, feeling the same emotions Jack was at this very moment.

Emotions like relief from not being killed in cold blood in front of an ancient archway that was being destroyed by grave robbers.

The door swung open fully, revealing yet another dark, empty space beyond. Jack thought he felt a whoosh of cold air as the space beyond leaked out, the air inside mixing with the air out here. He wondered how long it had remained closed, untouched by humans. It was obvious no one had ever seen it, and after the builders had constructed it, the kings and pharaohs visiting had brought their wares and treasures inside, and the dynasties had ended, it had been forgotten.

How long had it sat here, waiting to be rediscovered? How long ago had humans set foot inside?

Once again, Jack felt the call. "I'll go first," he said.

He flicked his eyes toward Clive, but Clive simply nodded. He wasn't surprised the short, small-statured man would agree. Clive was more talk than action now, ready to go only if he could be convinced of his own safety, and unsure he could trust Jack and Isaiah. He motioned for two of the mercenaries to follow directly behind Jack, then for Isaiah to go, and the last two mercenaries and Clive himself to follow up the rear.

Jack didn't care what order they went in.

So long as he was first.

CHAPTER 62

SHANE

Shane watched as Natia shuffled over to the corner of the room, where the shovels stood next to the buckets. Shane had already considered trying to use the shovel to break out of their cuffs, but had written it off as a near impossibility. The edge of the shovel was certainly not sharp enough to cut through the chains, and there would be no way to swing it hard enough while their hands were bound.

"Shane, help me," Natia snapped.

Shane frowned, wondering what her plan was. Nevertheless, he followed her into the corner of the room.

"Too close. Back up."

His frown deepened, but then his eyes widened as Natia grasped the handle of the nearest shovel with both hands.

"Whoa, I don't think⁠—"

"Shut up and sit down," she said.

"Sit down?" he asked. "What the hell are you⁠—"

She shushed him again, interrupting. She pushed him back with the spade of the shovel, and he begrudgingly got to the floor, sitting on the cold stone. His hands, still cuffed, rested in his lap. He looked up, seeing the crazed expression on Natia's face.

Then she lifted the handle of the shovel up overhead.

"Whoa, hey, wait a minute⁠—"

The shovel came crashing down onto the floor of the stone room, the sound reverberating loudly through the chamber. Shane had involuntarily winced, even squeezing his eyes shut at the last moment. When he opened them, he looked down and saw his feet, still cuffed, but now free to move, the chain holding them together now snapped in half.

"Okay, I'll admit, that was pretty good."

She stared down at him quizzically. "Haven't you seen the movie?"

"The movie? What are you talking about?"

"Kate Winslet. Leonardo DiCaprio."

He frowned. "Titanic?"

She nodded, smiling. Then, with a deft, agile move, she flipped the shovel around in her bound hands, offering the handle to Shane as he stood up. He grabbed it, pulling himself up against Natia's weight, then she sat down, resting her back against the wall.

"Your turn. And please don't miss, Mr. Riley."

He tried to recall the scene from Titanic she was talking about. Surely she must be mistaken. She was Eastern European, or whatever, so maybe she was confused with another movie. He didn't remember anyone using shovels to break out of an ancient Egyptian temple in the movie of the world's most famous luxury boating accident.

He took a few breaths, lifted the shovel over his own head, feeling its weight and noticing the curve of the spade, trying to ensure to angle it correctly for his own attack on Natia's cuffs. He swung, and the clang once again reverberated through the chamber. He looked down. It was a perfect hit, and Natia's feet were now free as well.

"Nice work, Mr. Riley. Shall we try the hands?"

Shane swallowed, then nodded. He felt he got lucky with the first swing. The second time, even if she stretched her hands out all the way, he was worried he would chop off her wrist or catch her head. But she was already preparing herself, stretching forward, face down now on the chamber floor. Shane steeled himself, lifting the shovel once more.

Before he could swing, however, he heard the sound of footsteps descending the staircase.

He swung around just as the soldier who had been with Zari appeared. He looked behind him, then stepped into the room, followed closely by Zari himself. The soldier immediately aimed his weapon at Shane but didn't fire.

Shane was half-turned, the shovel still over his head, and Zari wore a wide smile.

"Am I interrupting something?" the government official asked.

Shane let out a breath, lowering the shovel.

"I see you've been left behind. Did your cult leader friend decide you weren't quite valuable enough for this phase of his mission?"

Shane offered a dumb nod, but Natia had already swung her now free feet around and popped up onto her legs, like a spry leopard. She stood, brushing off the seat of her pants and the front side of the sand and dust that had gathered there. "They're downstairs. If you hurry, you might even be able to catch them."

"And leave you two here?" Zari asked. "While the men of this cult may trust you'll stay put, I certainly do not."

Shane lifted his hands up as if to show off the cuffs.

"I see you've already found a way out of the shackles your feet were in," Zari said, stepping closer to Shane. "And I suspect your next move would be to head back upstairs, see if you can find my helicopter and pilot, and convince him to give you a ride out of here."

Shane squinted. That wasn't a bad plan at all, he thought. "Actually, we're not about to leave our friends down there with that crazy asshole."

"The professor and student?" Zari asked. "Who are they to you?"

Shane looked left and right, in disbelief. "They're... with us. Our friends. Why would we leave them behind?"

"They're dead already," Zari said. "It's admirable of you to believe you can affect any sort of change on that front, but that ship has sailed, I'm afraid."

"What are you talking about?" Natia asked. "They're not dead yet. We saw them⁠—"

"Descend the stairs into the depths of the Temple of Osiris? Into the darkness, where they will no doubt find the secrets they're after?"

"What are you getting at, Zari?" Shane hissed.

"You must study your Egyptian history better, Mr. Riley," he said. "Or at least watch a few movies. Don't you know what happens when outsiders try to enter a sealed tomb? What happens when such a tomb is opened once more?"

"This isn't Indiana Jones," Shane said. "And I don't believe in curses." He wondered why everyone was making movie references lately.

"Well, it wouldn't hurt to have a little respect for the past, either. The ancient people here believed Osiris was both the man and the god. The only reason they would believe that is if they had seen..."

"Regardless of what the actual truth is, they would have protected this place, this temple."

"You mean like booby-traps?"

Zari laughed. "Again, this isn't the movies, as you've said. But they would have protected it nonetheless. There is no way they would just allow outsiders to come in and out of this place of worship."

"So you don't believe it's the actual tomb? That Osiris is buried here?"

Zari paused, looking around at the antechamber. "I don't know," he said finally. "It's a good question. I've seen many things in my time with the ministry. I've studied my people's history for as long as I can remember. And yet I've never seen anything quite like this."

He turned a slow circle around, taking in the space once more.

"It doesn't seem like a tomb, and though this is just the antechamber for whatever lies down there, it's not built the same way other sites intended for worship or tombs were built. It's quite unlike anything I've seen, to be honest. So I wouldn't be surprised if it is both a worship site, meant to honor the memory and legacy of Osiris to the ancient people, and the final resting place of the man himself. Of course, it could be neither of those things, and your people just walked into a trap. Frankly, that would make my job considerably easier."

Shane clenched his teeth. "Only one way to find out," he said.

"You know nothing of what the ancient Egyptians could build. What they were capable of. You want me to believe walking down there is our best option?"

"As I said, only one way to⁠—"

"We will at least go down as far as the other team made it," Zari said, once again cutting him off. "Their dead bodies littering the floor will give us clues as to their demise. They will be like the canary in the coal mine."

It was an apt description, Shane realized. Mine workers would use a small bird, one more susceptible to any change in oxygen levels or air content, as a crude means of measuring any changes in the air quality. If the bird passed out or died, it was a good sign it was no longer safe to be down there.

Using humans for the same purpose was an even cruder methodology, one he hoped wouldn't prove to be true.

"But I still don't trust you. Either of you." His eyes flashed from Shane to Natia, then finally to his man, still guarding the only exit downstairs with his assault rifle.

"You," he pointed to Natia, "will come with me. You seem to be a bit more slippery than this one."

Natia didn't budge.

"Mr. Riley, you will stay here with Omar. He will remain in direct communication with me as long as we are within range. If you try anything, I'll know."

Shane nodded once. Once again, they had no choice but to comply. Zari made it a point to show off the pistol he wore on his side, and Natia knew not to test him, either. While Shane was confident a woman like Natia would have no trouble disabling Zari and making a break for it, there wouldn't be anywhere to go down there.

"One last thing, Mr. Riley," he said. "I can't have you thinking you might make a run for it anyway. I would assume you're not stupid enough to try, but I will have to remove that option completely."

He nodded at Omar, who lowered his rifle and stepped forward, pulling out another set of metal handcuffs from his back pocket.

Shane rolled his eyes. Here we go again, he thought.

Omar stepped up and once again Shane's feet were pulled together, cuffs slipped over them, and this time tightened so tight he wondered if they might just cut his feet off completely at the ankle.

Zari walked over, picked up the shovel Shane was holding, then reached for the other still standing in the corner. He took both of these upstairs, tossed them somewhere, then returned a moment later.

"Now I believe we can continue this little expedition."

He turned to Natia, smiling his wide, characteristic smile once more. "Shall we?"

CHAPTER 63

JACK

None of this made any sense to Jack. After entering the small doorway on his hands and knees, he found that the entrance was actually the beginning of a short, claustrophobic shaft. He had to stretch and crawl on his belly as the shaft narrowed almost to a point. Finally, he felt an opening, pulling himself out of the shaft into a much larger space.

There, he waited, using only his flashlight to get an idea of the space around him.

He called back to the others, and Clive had one of his men slide a light through the shaft into the larger space. Once everyone was inside, the man turned on the light.

Jack's mouth fell open.

It was a space about as large as the antechamber directly above their heads, but where the antechamber had been painted in an almost garish display of colors, shapes, and thousands of glyphs, this space seemed like an afterthought. The walls had a few etchings he couldn't read, but only in certain spots.

All four walls were stone, unpainted, and looked to have been hastily carved from the rock. No markings or engravings were on the floor at all, save for a foot-wide rut that ran down the middle of the rectangular room. It was about 6 inches deep and empty. Jack followed the rut and saw what looked to be a shadoof on one side, an ancient device about 14 feet long, balanced on a bipod. A rope hung from one end, with a box tied at the end of the rope.

"What is that thing?" Clive repeated, sounding baffled.

"It looks like a shadoof," Jack said. "It was used by ancient Egyptians as a lever to carry large objects, often for carrying buckets of water upstream. Sort of like a crane, but having the rod mounted at that point with a weight on the other end makes the load the person has to move a lot lighter."

Clive nodded, stepping closer to the shadoof that sat on the other side of the rut. Jack noticed the counterweight was another box at the back end of the shadoof, also tied at the end of a rope and seemed to be filled with grain.

"Very interesting," Clive said softly.

"I don't think I've ever seen one inside a tomb," Isaiah said. "Or really any ancient structure."

Jack nodded. "That's my thought, too. Why is it here? What's the intent? This place doesn’t seem like it was abandoned while still under construction.”

"I don't know, but it must be for something. Let's look at everything else inside and see if we can put the puzzle together," Clive said.

Clive was right—there was more to examine inside the space. Jack noticed the opposite wall on the other side of the rut that cut the room in half had a group of recessed square panels, like large insets in molded showers to hold shampoo and soap. But these were far larger, probably about 3 feet square, and each was about a foot deep. Each one held three urns, or what appeared to be ceramic vases.

"Nine vases, split into triplets across three windows," Isaiah said. "That mean anything to you?"

Jack frowned. He shook his head. "No, nothing. I’m not sure if there’s meaning behind the numbers three and nine. And it seems anachronistic. This whole space being so… plain doesn't add up."

"Well, it does seem to be a tomb," Clive said.

Jack turned and watched the man walk across the room toward a large rectangular stone box that sat at the top of the right.

"Is that a sarcophagus?" Isaiah asked.

"Sure looks like it," Jack said. "But that too is out of place. It's not ornate or symbolized in any way. And this doesn't seem to be a funerary chamber, either."

"Doesn't matter," Clive said roughly. "Let's get it open."

Immediately, his men rushed forward, finding small finger holds in the heavy stone lid that sat atop the box.

“Whoa, hold on," Jack said. "We can't just go opening every little box we find down here. It's sacrilege."

"My men want proof," Clive said. His eyes flicked left and right. “And I've got my reasons, as well."

Jack started forward, hoping to intercept Clive and talk him out of ripping open a sealed sarcophagus that likely hadn't been touched in thousands of years, but one of Clive's men turned and pointed his rifle at Jack's chest.

"Don't even think about it, Professor,” Clive said. "This is not your archaeological site. It's mine. And I intend to examine it fully."

"Clive, just wait. We don't know what's in there—everything about this room seems wrong. Out of place somehow."

Isaiah stepped up next to him, nodding in agreement. "He's right," the younger man said. "Not only do we not know what's in there, it's unlikely to be what you're looking for. Look around—there's no treasure in here. If this was actually the tomb of Osiris, and this place was used by the ancients as a site to worship him, there would be an incredible amount of treasure down here. It would all be piled up around that sarcophagus."

"Which means this place was disrupted at some point," Clive snapped. "More grave robbers. But if they didn't open the tomb, there could still be more inside."

Jack shook his head again. "It's not that simple. I don't think anyone was here. There's no sign there even was treasure placed here, at any point. Why is there a shadoof in the corner? There's actual grain, or something like it, in that box as a counterweight, which means whoever put it here intended for it to be used. But there's no water to move, no objects of any kind. Except for those vases, but⁠—"

Before he could finish, Clive was moving toward the wall with the insets and vases on it. As Jack finished the sentence, Clive pulled at the closest vase to him, the shorter man clearly finding it heavy, full of something. He lifted it with two hands, but it fell part of the way down before realizing it was attached to the wall and set somehow by way of another rope. It clanged against the stone, not breaking, but the heavy vase pulled the rope tied to it taut.

Immediately, Jack heard a grinding noise as the vase slowly pulled the rope down.

"Any idea what that was?" Jack asked.

Clive winced, stepping back from the wall, but whatever had happened was done. The grinding stopped, but a new sound reached Jack's ears then. He looked across the space, his eyes drawn to the rut running through the room, horizontally bisecting the space. A trickle of water was flowing across it, coming from somewhere outside the room where the rut met the far wall beneath the sarcophagus.

"Well, I guess that explains your shadoof," Clive said. The water was flowing fully now, but still only covered a half-inch of the floor of the rut. It wasn't moving quickly, but Jack didn't see a place for it to drain on the other side.

"It's too elaborate of a contraption," Jack said. "Why use a whole shadoof to move water from one side of the room to the other? And the rut in the middle of this space seems to be moving the water from one side to the other just fine. It doesn't make sense for a place like this. And for only this amount of water."

“Maybe it was used to construct this place, and forgotten. Left behind when they finished.”

Jack nodded, but he wasn’t entirely sure he believed it.

He was trying to understand what the builders intended here—was this water source originally meant to keep the workers hydrated? He certainly wasn't going to test the water to find out if it was drinkable, but even if it were, it still didn't make sense. No other ancient site had a human-constructed river and spring feeding it, and certainly did not require a shadoof to carry water from one side to the other.

Perhaps it was part of this puzzle, or perhaps it was just a red herring — something to throw them off course. That seemed to be plausible to him, considering where they were.

CHAPTER 64

SHANE

"This is not what you think," a voice said.

Shane frowned, turning around and only seeing Omar standing behind him, his gun still at the ready.

"Zari, he's… not who you think."

Shane whirled around again, this time seeing Omar's eyes widening. "Omar? Did you say something?"

Omar nodded excitedly. "Yes, I'm trying to tell you. This is not what you think it is."

This time Shane actually saw the kid's mouth move. He sounded far older than he looked, and with his voice just above a whisper, it sounded like an old man rattling off insane theories. "What are you talking about? Zari – he's with the Ministry of Antiquities, is he not?"

"Yes, of course. But so much more. He's in charge of the ministry, but his power at the top levels of my government is immeasurable. What Zari wants, Zari gets."

"And what is it that Zari wants?"

"He wants the same thing the cult group wants," Omar said. "Proof."

"That Osiris was real?"

"Yes," Omar stressed. "That's all this is about. But the cult wants proof because they want to claim everything we know about Egyptology is wrong. That the pyramids weren't built by Egyptians, but visitors from elsewhere."

"Finding a body downstairs is going to prove that?" Shane asked, incredulous.

Omar shook his head. "No. Well… yes.” He squeezed his eyes shut, then reopened them. “There's a lot to it, a lot of history and mythology and beliefs. But, in a sense, it would disrupt everything we know about Egyptian history to find that Osiris was truly a real man. A living, breathing human."

"And why does your boss want this not to be the case?"

"There are many reasons. Many answers. But consider what he stands to lose should this be the case. His job, yes, but so much more than that. The power he has accrued over decades working for the government. All of that would be lost in an instant."

The kid has a flair for the dramatic, Shane thought. But he couldn't argue with the reasoning. Politicians are often this way about things. They play fast and loose with facts, buying into something when it suited their political rise and denying the veracity of claims when it did not. He knew men and women who would fight tooth and nail to hold onto the status quo because that status quo offered immense benefits.

"There's something else, another reason."

Shane waited.

"The young man you're with, Isaiah."

Shane suddenly came to high alert. So far, none of the government group seemed to know or care about who Isaiah was. They certainly had not addressed him by name. "You know who he is?"

Omar smiled. "I should. I grew up with him."

"You grew up with him?"

"Well, for about ten years. We are cousins. First cousins, actually. We were very close from about three years old until I turned twelve. I moved away, my family landing in Libya for a time. We grew apart, never stayed in touch."

"He didn't recognize you?"

"I've changed a lot over the years."

Shane studied the young man's face. His previous assessment had been correct – that this man was young, and he'd been surprised by how much older he sounded when he talked. Looking closely, he now realized why. This young man was a soldier and had seen plenty of combat in his day. The atrocities and massacres he had likely seen – perhaps even been part of – shown through his eyes as if he were constantly experiencing them in a nonstop, endless onslaught of memory.

Shane knew the look well. This kid had been forced to grow up a lot faster than any other normal kid his age. That he landed a job chauffeuring Zari around must've meant he was good at what he did and had earned a seat at the cushy table of privilege. He guessed this was a rather lofty assignment, unlikely to be a combat directive.

"And who is Isaiah to Zari?"

Omar frowned. "Isaiah didn't tell you?"

"I'm afraid Isaiah is just as in the dark about all this as we are. He could be playing us, but he seems rather naïve. I doubt he's holding something back. So please, fill me in. Who the hell is that kid?"

"If he hasn't told you, he doesn't know," Omar said, a disappointed look on his face. "But that's fine. It doesn't change what's going on."

Shane was listening, but he held up his hands and looked at Omar. "Go on, but I suspect you and I are going to be working together shortly. If that's the case, do you mind uncuffing me?"

Omar's eyes widened again, as if he'd just come to the same realization. He nodded excitedly once more, pulling a handcuff key from his pocket. He quickly undid the cuffs on Shane's wrists and ankles while he spoke.

"The cult you have been chasing is very real. Small, and relatively weak on their own, but real. The new leaders — one of whom is the man downstairs now — are incompetent, as you likely have gathered. But they do mean business. They believe this place is nothing more than a treasure trove for them to steal. Artifacts, items of historical significance, perhaps even actual treasure. The Egyptians who used this place during its centuries-long activity would have all brought homage to the deity they believed was buried here or that this place represented."

"Osiris."

"Yes. They would bring items of immense value to leave at the altar of Osiris. Pharaohs themselves would journey here in order to lay at Osiris's feet that which they believed was most valuable of their earthly possessions."

"Okay, that tracks. Keep going."

"So the cult leaders just want that stuff for themselves. They don't care about the history here, what Osiris meant to the people, what he still means to the Egyptians. They just want to loot, to steal."

"I hear there's a lot of money in that these days," Shane said. He thought back to his own time learning to become a retrieval expert. He wondered if the gig he'd chosen for himself was much different from the one Clive was now performing.

"You mentioned the cult leaders," he said. "But not the cult itself. Those men with Clive – they're true believers in this cause, aren't they?"

"Yes, we think so. I've been close to Zari's team as they've investigated the cult and what they want. The leaders seem to just want a payday, but the followers have no idea. They are consumed by the thought of finding the tomb of Osiris himself. This is what they're after, and they will die trying to do just that."

"I understand that, but I still don't understand why that's so important to them? And what Isaiah has to do with any of it."

"They want to kill him, right?"

"That's… what we gathered, yeah." He suddenly felt remorse, knowing Isaiah was down with Professor Jack Swain, a man wholly incapable of defending himself or Isaiah, if push came to shove. There was a chance Isaiah was already dead, even now.

"Zari said the cult wants proof – proof that Osiris was a man, not just a deity. That is true, but you now know that the cult leaders want it to be real because it means there will be treasure where Osiris was buried. Hopefully to them, treasure that has been unchallenged for millennia, untouched by outsiders. In other words, a massive fortune waiting for them, should Osiris actually be buried here."

"But the followers – they want to kill Isaiah. Why?"

Omar nodded as he continued. "Because he is of the direct lineage to Osiris."

Shane couldn't hide his shock. "I'm sorry. Come again? Isaiah is related to Osiris?"

"That's what they believe, yes," Omar said quickly. "It's why they tried to hunt him down and kill him before any of this. It's why they've been looking for him for years." Omar's voice drifted off, and he looked away.

"What else, Omar?"

“It's why my family left his so long ago. It's why we separated. It shames me, pains me to think of it. My father is married to the sister of Isaiah's father. My mother is his aunt. But the cult of Osiris is a patrilineal one, tracking the lineage of males and their heirs. They believe the bloodline continues through the men only, not the women."

"So your mother – and thus your entire family – was safe from them. But Isaiah's family…"

“Is directly descended from the God of the Afterlife.”

CHAPTER 65

JACK

Clive turned and addressed his two men in Arabic. Jack saw Isaiah's eyes widen, though he couldn't understand what Clive had told them. It was clear in an instant, however, as the two men began once again removing the lid on the sarcophagus.

Jack started to walk over in that direction but he was too late. The lid slid an inch out, with a loud hiss. The sound of air escaping—or entering—a new space.

How long had this sarcophagus been closed? How long had it been sealed?

The two cultists stopped suddenly, stepping back simultaneously from either side of the sarcophagus lid.

"Why are you stopping?" Clive asked.

But he cut himself off as he saw what Jack, Isaiah, and the two mercenaries noticed.

There was something coming out of the top of the sarcophagus, some sort of gas. It filled that corner of the room like a greenish smoke, the lack of airflow inside bringing it directly up and toward the ceiling of the stone chamber.

At the same time, Jack heard voices and shuffling from behind. He jumped, turning sideways just as Natia's head and handcuffed wrists poked out of the small tunnel they had all entered from.

"Hello, Professor,” she said. Her voice was tight, cold. He knew in an instant she wasn't here of her own accord.

That means…

After she entered the room, Jack saw Zari's face appear. The older, larger man took a few extra seconds to compact his body through the tiny rectangular hole, but eventually, he did. He pulled himself out completely, finally standing.

Jack saw he was holding a pistol in his right hand, aiming it at the small of Natia's back. He was about to ask where Shane Riley was, but Zari addressed Clive instead.

"Nice to finally meet you," Zari said, his voice loud, gravelly still, and directed toward the small-statured, rotund man on the opposite side of the room. The vase behind him was still dangling from the rope, the water level in the rut still gently rising.

"You must be General Zari," Clive said.

"I haven't been called General in a long time," Zari said, "but I appreciate the respect."

Rather than answer aloud, Clive spat, the saliva landing in a gross splat next to the rut.

Zari looked around, noticing the green gas—whatever it was—slowing a bit, but still rising into the air. At the same time, Jack saw one of the mercenaries step back from the lid, inspecting his hand. He whispered something in Arabic, his eyes flying open, his face suddenly pale.

Clive frowned, and Zari stepped away from Natia and began walking in the direction of the sarcophagus.

"What did he say?" Jack asked Isaiah.

The young man kept his voice to a whisper, barely audible. "He said this must be the Curse of Osiris."

“Curse?” Jack asked. "In all my studies, I've never heard of anyone actually believing it’s real.”

He turned to look at Isaiah — the younger man now a trusted associate, and, most importantly, Egyptian.

Isaiah offered no argument, but continued. “But these men are in a cult that believes Osiris was a real man, potentially buried right here. And he seems to believe there is a curse, and that it is alive and well."

Jack watched as the terrified Egyptian man backed away from the lid, pressing himself against the far wall. The gas that had dissipated up and above him was now settling, lowering into a thin haze that seemed to float on the air at the top of the chamber just above his head. It was a strange effect, the gas not mixing with the air as Jack would've thought, but instead displacing it and forming a distinct pocket of gas, like oil being poured through water.

But everyone else's eyes were on the mercenary, who had apparently come into contact with the gas.

He held his right hand up in front of his face, the blood now drained from it.

Jack gasped.

His hand was… melting.

The cult soldier began screaming, his terror rising into panic and then pain as blood began dripping from open, bubbling wounds on his hand that had not been there seconds earlier.

"The gas…" Clive asked. "It came from inside the sarcophagus. Close it!”

Zari and the other mercenary lunged into action, as did Natia. Where Zari and the others seemed to be focused on closing the sarcophagus's lid once more, Natia turned and walked up to Jack and Isaiah instead. "We need to go," she whispered quickly. "Now. Follow me."

She dove down to her knees, agile and physically fit as ever. Jack watched her lay on the floor and, using her toes, push herself into the tight rectangular hole she had just emerged from. He looked to Isaiah, who was nodding and glancing back at the soldier and Zari, now assisted by Clive on the opposite side, trying to shut the sarcophagus that was still leaking whatever toxin it had sent out into the chamber.

But as they slid the sarcophagus lid backwards, Jack heard a series of clicks, each one louder than the last. After five such clicks, there was a deafening thud that nearly ruptured his eardrums. It was loud enough to cause everyone in the room to stop.

Natia slowly pushed herself back into the room. All eyes turned to Jack and Isaiah, and then to her. She aimed a thumb down the hole, then addressed the whole room.

"Whatever you geniuses just did, it sealed us in here,” she said. “The door we came in through is shut."

CHAPTER 66

SHANE

"You said ‘this wasn't what we thought it was,’” Shane said. "What did you mean?"

Omar looked at him for a moment before responding. “Zari, you mean?" he asked.

"He told us he wanted proof one way or the other that Osiris was real, much like those cultists down there. But he also told us his job at the ministry is ensuring places like this are safe and protected from grave robbers. Are you implying that's not the case?"

“That is the case," Omar said. "That is his job. But he is also zealous. As arrogant as they come, and not only does he believe he deserves credit for finding places like this, he believes sharing it with anyone else diminishes his reputation."

"What are you saying, Omar?"

Omar swallowed. "He's going to kill you," he said.

Shane squinted down at the slightly shorter man, unsure of whether or not to believe Omar. So far, the younger man had freed him, told him he knew Isaiah and was related to Isaiah, and had betrayed his boss's orders to keep Shane locked up and guarded. If ever there was a reason to start trusting someone, Shane decided he had at least three.

"Okay," Shane growled. "That's news to me. Zari specifically said he would let us go if we cooperated. You're telling me a high-ranking government official is going to kill me, and everyone else down there?”

Omar nodded. "Yes. But you don't understand. He has great power. Killing you will be the easy part. There would be a little trouble ensuring the rest of us don't speak of it, but he has… persuasive ways."

"So he's got a plan to kill me. I'm assuming Isaiah, Professor Jack Swain, and Natia as well?"

"And the cult soldiers and their leader."

"Leaving you the sole survivor, considering the rest of his team was decimated outside?"

Omar shifted. “Well, that is partly why I wanted to come clean to you. I don’t trust him. After every one of his men died outside, I realized he had little reason to keep me alive as well, once this is all over. He can be persuasive, but why persuade when you can simply… remove the problem?”

“Not a bad strategy,” Shane said.

“So I believe he will find whatever is to be found here, then kill your team and the cult. Once he’s sure he has everything in order, he will kill me.”

“Sorry, dude. It’s probably not personal.”

Omar wasn’t fazed by the joke, nor did it seem to even register.

“All right, look,” Shane continued. “Guys like Zari — successful military strategists-turned-politicians — they think the world’s their oyster. That they can get away with whatever the hell they want. And most of the time, they can.”

A momentary flash of memory overcame Shane. He thought of his wife, her murdered body dropped into the ocean, still inside the vehicle she’d been driving.

The impassive faces of the government men he’d told his story to.

The feigned looks of concern they’d given him when he’d asked for their help.

The posturing, the arrogant attitudes of the men claiming to be busy, that they’d ‘do whatever they could.’

He thought of the moment he’d decided to take on this new role of ‘retrieval expert.’ Kate had still been alive, but he’d wanted more from a job than just taking orders, than just becoming the type of man who could look at a man like Shane — hear what he’d gone through — and offer nothing but practiced recitations and ‘thoughts and prayers.’

He suddenly felt a kinship with Omar, a man who had no doubt seen just as much tragedy and horror as Shane, and was trying to cope with it.

“My point is,” Shane said, clearing his throat, “that Zari needs to be stopped. But he won’t be, unless he’s stopped by someone on his level.”

“No one is at his level.”

“I don’t mean politically, Omar. I mean physically. He responds only to force. He’s a military guy. Army, probably. But he knows force, and hasn’t come up against it for years now. So every moment we let guys like him do their will on this world, we lose. And he wins.”

“I want to stop him.”

Shane nodded. “I will stop him. You just need to point me in the right direction.”

“Okay,” Omar said, sighing. “I believe you. What do you want to do?”

“What’s his next move?” Shane asked.

Omar paused. “I’ve only been with him for a few months, but the others – my teammates who died upstairs – told me how he operates. A mission like this, it will be off the books. There will be no record of it, and if I'm lucky, and he doesn’t decide to kill me after, a large amount of money will be deposited into an account set up by his office."

"And if you're not lucky?"

Omar swallowed again.

"Right, got it. You've already stuck your neck out for me, which means you're thinking if Zari finds out about your betrayal — almost a certainty at this point — you go the way of ol’ Shane Riley and the others."

Omar nodded.

Shane felt even more drawn to help this guy. He hated politics, hated even a sniff of political scheming, and this was now life and death – literally. While Zari hadn't seemed overly hostile, and certainly not physically intimidating, Shane had no doubt the man had plenty more strings to pull, lots of options. He wondered if even now Zari had a team incoming to replace his lost men.

“I still need to know his next move. So how will he do it?" Shane asked. "Upstairs, when we were outside on that dune, you and Zari went back to the chopper for some reason. Were you calling in reinforcements?"

Omar hesitated, but then nodded. "Yes. There are two squads on the way, more CSF soldiers. They’ll be here any moment now.”

"And will they follow us in here, or will they wait outside?"

“Zari ordered them to wait outside, to flank the opening right there at the top of the stairs. Only if they receive orders from him directly – something I doubt will happen, considering he is further underground now – will they come in."

Shane's mind raced. He suddenly had the beginnings of a plan.

"But whatever you want to do, Mr. Riley, it seems pointless. Zari is down there now, likely already –"

"I'm going to stop you there, son," Shane said. "I like to think of myself as an optimist, and it's gotten me through a few scrapes and binds. So I’m not about to imagine my friends dying, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t, either. They’re still alive, and we can still get to them.”

The look on Omar’s face told Shane he didn’t believe him.

Shane continued anyway. “This place is a temple of some sort, right? Likely far bigger underground than we imagine."

"Yes, but –"

"And the temple builders would have given themselves at least another way out. That way out has probably been hidden for centuries, covered up with sand and rocks or whatever else the city used to be. But I'm pretty sure it's not going to be in this room."

Omar's eyes widened. "We can't –"

Shane cut him off again. "We have to. You've already risked your life letting me go and clueing me in Zari's plans. It's time I take matters into my own hands. It's the only chance we’ve got."

"What are you suggesting?"

"I'm suggesting we look for that other way out, and stat."

Shane stopped there; he didn't say what he was really thinking.

We don't just need a way out.

They needed a way out that wasn’t going to attract the attention of Zari's reinforcements, likely already forming up outside the stairs to his left.

And we need to find it before Zari decides to kill everyone downstairs.

Another thing struck him. The government official's confidence made Shane wonder at his exact plans. Zari hadn't been armed with more than a pistol, at least no other firearm Shane could see. And Zari knew Natia was a wildcard – perhaps not a professionally trained contract killer, but certainly physically fit enough to put up a fight. That meant Zari had a different plan besides simply shooting everyone in sight, another way to kill everyone.

He couldn't expect to take everyone down with just a pistol, so what was it? Did he have some sort of poisonous gas he intended to use?

Shane walked toward the still-open door, slowing to let Omar pass through first. He noticed Omar holding a small flashlight he had pulled from his belt, thankful they had at least some light. He hoped there were more light towers like the one in this room downstairs, but at least the flashlight would guide them for now.

He didn't bother sliding the door closed behind them as they entered the hallway and descending staircase that led into the depths of the subterranean temple. The CSF men outside would have no trouble noticing the door and opening it again, so it wouldn't slow them down much if they decided to enter.

As he turned to follow Omar down the first set of massive stone stairs, he hoped he was right.

Please, let there be another way out.

CHAPTER 67

JACK

"What do you mean it shut?" Clive asked. He ducked, as if he weren't already the shortest person in the room, dodging the slowly growing cloud of greenish gas above his head. "Did you try pushing on it?"

"You heard all those clicks, right?" Isaiah asked. "Whatever you guys did when you closed the lid sealed us in here."

"Why? What could be the purpose of that?"

Zari chuckled. "The curse is real, apparently."

Everyone turned to face him.

"Osiris," he whispered. "This is his final resting place. But unlike all other Egyptian tombs, this one is not a simple mastaba. It is not just a sarcophagus meant to hold the remains of the deceased. No, this is a church. A sanctuary. A temple, meant to protect whoever was placed here."

"Doesn't seem like a sanctuary to me," Clive mumbled.

"Oh, but it is. Think about it – this place was never meant to be a shrine for journeyers to visit. It was meant to be a sanctuary for the resting body of Osiris himself. And for that reason, it was built so that he could not be disturbed. Surely someone here has heard the legend, no?"

Isaiah squeezed his eyes shut, then spoke. His voice wavered but grew louder with each second that passed. "I do. I've heard this myth."

Zari seemed pleased by this revelation.

Everyone's attention turned to the young archaeologist.

"When I was very young,” Isaiah said, “my father used to whisper some of the stories to us at night. We didn't believe them – why should we? Osiris was an old god worshiped by the ancient Egyptians. But I grew up in the 90s and 2000s, in modern society." He smiled as he reminisced. "My brothers and I just laughed at the stories, and eventually they became a sort of running gag. My father would tell us the stories to try to scare us at night, before bed."

"What stories?" Natia asked.

"Stories of Osiris. Of the man, not the god. Of the great things he did for the people of his time. He told us that Osiris was a great leader, but started as an agricultural genius. A farmer, essentially. He understood how to grow in seasons even when it was drier than normal. He began teaching others, eventually becoming worshiped as a deity."

"We all know that part of the story," Clive said hastily. "What about this curse?"

"It was said that when he died, he was placed into a tomb no one else was allowed to enter. If they did, they would be tested. Only those worthy would be able to leave."

Jack looked around. "You think this is Osiris's tomb?"

Isaiah pointed at the sarcophagus. "I do not think he's inside that, no," he said. “But yes, I now believe this ‘curse’ – always thought to be just a story – is real. We ended up entering a chamber we are not supposed to leave, because we were not supposed to be here in the first place."

Jack thought back to the way they were allowed to enter the room. On their knees, and then belly, prostrate before a god. But once inside, it had been anything but what he expected. Quite contradictory, in fact.

But it was clear this place was not welcoming. He only had to look at the mercenary suffering in the corner, his hand all but eaten by whatever acid had poured out of the sealed vault, to know that to be the case.

And now he saw the water was beginning to lap over the sides of the rut, beginning to fill the floor of the entire small chamber.

What does it all mean?

The mercenary seemed to be faring slightly better now, though Jack couldn't look at his acid-eaten, mangled hand. Much of the flesh was missing from three fingers, and Jack could see bone even from across the room. The man was sobbing gently, crouched on the floor and rocking back and forth.

He knew the pain must be excruciating. He also knew it would be their fate as well if they let the gas continue pouring into the room.

"Can we close this any further?" Clive asked.

Zari and Clive's uninjured man shook their heads. "It's stuck. That final click closed the door, but also kept the sarcophagus open slightly.”

"There must be another way out," Clive said.

"We're not supposed to –"

"Only the worthy are allowed to leave," Clive said. "Didn't you hear the story?"

Zari chuckled again, apparently unfazed by their predicament. "All these years, I thought it was just a myth. This cult you're now in charge of, Clive, didn't you stop to ask questions of your followers? To find out what, exactly, you were leading? Didn't you think that perhaps their beliefs might be rooted in something tangible?"

Clive scoffed, but his two men – the one holding the side of the sarcophagus, careful not to let any of the gas still seeping out touch him, and his second man huddled in the corner – looked at him. Jack suspected they didn't speak English at all, but they did seem to be waiting for Clive's response.

"My sister and I saw an opportunity, and we took it."

"You took over a cult, Clive. One I’ve been following for a few years now. You must have known what you were getting yourself into.”

"We didn't start —“ He shuffled from foot to foot, trying to explian. “This cult has been around a lot longer than any of us have been alive. You all know that by now. We simply… I simply redirected their interests."

Jack was confused about what that might mean, but he didn't need the details to get the gist. He was starting to understand who Clive was, and what he had done.

The ancient and fractured Cult of Osiris was indeed now the Order of Ascension, though the latter name had just been hastily slapped on by Clive and his reclusive sister, wherever she may be. They'd seen an opportunity, just like the man said, and they'd taken it. Cultists or not, the men following Clive and his sister now likely believed they were in it together. That Clive had their best interests in mind.

It seemed everyone in the room, even those who didn't speak English, now understood the truth.

Clive's interests here were of the sort that could be financially beneficial to himself, and that was it. He didn't care for the history, the lore, the mythology. He wanted whatever treasure might remain in this place.

Unfortunately for him, there didn't appear to be any.

"We need to start thinking through this if we ever expect to leave," Jack said.

CHAPTER 68

CLIVE

How had he gotten himself into this mess?

Clive looked around the ancient stone room, at the others standing around, guns and eyes pointed every which way. How had he lost control?

He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, balling his fists. He’d always had this odd tic – a poor way of handling anxiety, but a way nonetheless. He forced himself to breathe, his lungs doing their best to keep up with his increasing heart rate.

He thought of his sister, comfortable in the great castle-like mansion they both called home.

Well, not comfortable. He knew she was in pain all the time, the neuropathy becoming more and more difficult to handle and manage as she aged. Her mind was still just as brilliant as it had been when they were children, and he only wished she had a body to match, one that hadn't given up on her.

He loved her, as much as he didn't understand how she operated. When she had pitched this entire scheme to him, he’d jumped at the opportunity. It checked all the boxes for him – political intrigue, adventure, even a bit of treasure hunting.

He looked to the mercenaries that had come in with him, the last two alive. They were cultists through and through, ready to give their lives for a cause they truly believed in.

That Clive's sister had subverted the previous leadership and inserted herself and Clive as the de facto heads of this organization was not lost on these men. But they responded to such strength.

They'd welcomed it.

Sure, Clive didn't have the pedigree of an actual descendant of Osiris, but that had also been his and his sister's saving grace. These men wanted to kill the last remaining descendants of Osiris, a lineage they had tracked carefully over thousands of years. He wasn't sure he believed that lineage was accurate – there was really no way to know, in his opinion. But the color of his skin and his own pedigree proved that he was in no danger of being killed for his association with Osiris.

So it was somewhat of a juxtaposition that he – a pale white man of clearly northern European descent – would become one of the leaders of the Order of Ascension. But the cult had grown weaker over the decades it had existed, a lack of strong leadership causing them legal troubles, financial woes, and a general lack of vision. They had changed names a few times even, the irony of setting up a modern European limited liability corporation in the name of an organization they believed was as ancient as Osiris himself not lost on Clive.

But the men had performed their duties admirably, protecting Clive thus far. They'd done the grunt work as well, even taking lives when necessary. Clive and his sister had convinced them they had their best interests in mind, that they wanted to find the tomb of Osiris.

Clive knew there was more to it than that. Clive and his sister cared little for the actual body of Osiris – if it truly existed – and more for the treasures that would lay around his feet. He had spoken with his sister in person before this mission, going over the details. If they could piece together the cult they were leading, the one they had bought their way into, they would. That was why his sister had been so careful, so clear about not alerting government authorities and keeping their movements and goals under wraps.

Clive had almost succeeded in that arena, but it didn't matter now. General Zari was here, with his own cohort. More importantly, they were close. If they could get out of this room, they might be able to find the tomb of Osiris and all the ancient treasures that would come with it.

And that's really what this was about.

Money. Treasure. Fame, even. To have but one artifact that could be proven to be from Osiris' time, one artifact delivered by some pharaoh or another to the resting place of their god, one of their most important gods, would be priceless. Clive didn't know exactly what they would find, but he knew items of value when he saw them.

He hadn't been able to bring any sacks or bags down here, so whatever he retrieved today would have to be small enough to be pocketed or kept in hand.

But that didn't matter. Once they found what he was looking for, his last two men would kill everyone else around, including Zari, if it came to that. He had marked this spot on a map, ensuring no one else knew of its location or existence. He would return later, clean up the mess, and cut a new tunnel directly to the treasure. He wasn't one to marvel at ancient technology or architecture. Sure, it was impressive, but it was also an annoyance he didn't want to have to deal with.

He wasn't here out of reverence for the god this place had been built for; he was here for a singular purpose. A purpose he would extract manually, and for that, he would tunnel his way in, the shortest route possible directly to the tomb of Osiris.

He had a contracted excavation team on standby, kept in the dark about the exact nature of their imminent job. Once he found what he was looking for and proved its existence, he would call them back and tell them what to do. His sister would offer them enough money to overcome any qualms they might have about cutting into such a pristine ancient site, and Clive had been careful to choose a team that wasn't prone to asking questions anyway.

Besides his current predicament, the plan was so far working perfectly. Sure, there had been a few bumps and scrapes along the way, including the small team Professor Swain had brought with him to Egypt, but it was nothing Clive couldn't handle. Professor Swain had proven to be truly valuable, which was why he kept him and his friends alive thus far. Isaiah was a non-issue to Clive – a younger version of Swain, really – and while his men had looked at the younger man with hungry eyes, Clive wouldn't let them kill him until he was sure this was the right location.

The woman and the behemoth of a man with them had been a surprise to him, but he realized it made perfect sense after thinking about it. Swain wouldn't have wanted to travel alone in an unknown country, especially without protection. And rather than a lowly guide, he’d wanted a couple of people who could provide a bit more physical support.

The woman had been protecting Swain from the start, a setback Clive regretted. He thought he'd done well to keep his early plans out of view, but she'd somehow known he was sending men to kidnap Swain.

No matter, these were issues that could be resolved in time as well. She was still a bit of a wildcard, somewhat of an unknown, but nothing he couldn't handle.

Even now, she stood to the side, near Isaiah, as if calculating her next move. She’d been brought in with Zari — obviously against her will — but Clive got the sense she was still scheming, still planning.

He eyed her cautiously. He’d learned not to underestimate anyone, especially those working hard to give the impression they should be underestimated. This woman, Natia, would be someone he needed to keep an eye on.

Not that it was hard to do. Even in the relative darkness, with wet and dirty clothes, she was very easy to look at. Clive would have no trouble using some force to subdue her, if it came to that.

But first, they needed to figure out a way through this mess.

CHAPTER 69

SHANE

Shane reached the bottom of the descending staircase and found the corridor shooting out to the right. He’d allowed Omar to take the lead, as there was no light to follow otherwize. Wherever Zari and Natia had gone, he'd ensured he couldn't be easily followed by extinguishing any light sources along the way.

It was slow going; Omar was clearly scared and not wanting to move too quickly. Shane was impressed by Omar's courage, walking briskly through this new hallway, turning right at the end of it. The younger man seemed to know exactly where he was, where he was going.

Shane watched his flashlight bounce left and right and finally disappear as Omar turned a corner once more. Shane hustled to catch up, finding himself now in a small room, a pile of rubble on the floor and two sledgehammers leaning against it. Omar shone the light straight ahead, revealing a massive door-like archway. Shane saw immediately that it was the source of the pile of debris on the floor—the idiots in the cult had tried smashing through it rather than trying to open it.

"It doesn't open," Omar said softly. "It's not really a door."

"How do you know that?"

Omar glanced down at the pile of rubble and sledgehammers on the ground.

Shane shrugged. “Okay, good point. Obviously, they're all still here somewhere. I haven't heard anything though — are you sure we didn't miss a turn?"

Omar shook his head quickly. "They came this way. And you would not be able to hear anyone—these walls are thick stone, and we are dozens of meters underground."

Shane squinted. "How do you know? What aren't you telling me, Omar?"

Omar ignored him, turning to the corner of the room, shining his light in slow circles, eventually narrowing on the corner. Shane had no other choice but to follow along, finally understanding what Omar was illuminating.

It was another door.

Much smaller, almost small enough Shane wasn't sure he would fit through it.

"Over there," Omar said.

But Shane was already walking toward it, crouching down as he reached the stone panel. He pushed on it, his fingers feeling around the edges.

It didn't budge.

"It's not opening," Shane said. "Obviously, it's a door, but how come it's⁠—"

He pressed his ear up against the stone, sensing movement or noise on the other side. He didn't think he heard anything, but he had learned to trust his subconscious. It sounded like a rumbling, far away, but he wasn't sure it was coming from behind this door.

"That's where—" Omar cut himself off, moving the flashlight away and shining it back at the archway as if wanting to re-examine the hacked-apart façade once more.

Shane stood up, turning quickly to face Omar. "You know more than you're letting on," Shane snapped. "We don't have time to play games. Omar, you trusted me upstairs. Has that trust expired? Are you going to tell me what's really going on here?”

Light from the flashlight bounced off the wall and onto Omar's face, eliminating pockets and creating shadows on it. Shane could see his eyes clearly. He was scared; they flicked left and right as if wanting to ensure no one overheard what he was about to say.

When he spoke, his words were barely above a whisper. "We were here two days ago."

Shane's eyes widened. "You were here? In this place?”

"All of us, yes. My teammates — the ones who died outside. And Zari was here, briefly. We followed the professor's work, but Zari was able to really put the clues together. We beat the Order of Ascension cult out here, but we had to make it seem as though we never were here."

Shane shook his head, trying to put it all together. "What do you mean, you followed the professor's work? I thought it was stolen⁠—"

"It was," Omar stressed. "That much is true. Clive and his sister took over the cult a few years ago, and Zari has been watching them closely ever since, as their operations in Egypt and Libya picked up. He always sensed they were up to no good—he may be a politician, but he does have a good sense for that sort of thing. Anyway, they did steal the professor's work, but they were careless with it. It didn't take much for the Ministry's IT department to get their hands on it as well. If it was of interest to the cult, it was of interest to Zari."

"All this to protect ancient Egyptian secrets?" Shane hissed.

"To protect his interests," Omar corrected. "Sometimes they align with those of Egypt, sometimes they do not. But make no mistake, Zari is not here to placate. Once he gets what he wants, he will kill everyone."

"I doubt that," Shane said softly. "You guys still don't know who that girl is, do you? Natia? What she's capable of?"

Omar shook his head slowly, his eyes falling to the floor. "No, we don't. You're right about that, but it doesn't matter."

Shane frowned. "Why not?"

"As you said, not enough time for that. We need to figure out how to get into that room."

"You mean the room on the other side of that door that won't open?" Shane asked. "Good luck with that."

"Trust me, Zari was in that room two days ago. He didn't go past it—but he thinks it's some sort of false dead end, one he thinks can be reopened somehow. It's why he wanted to wait for the cult to arrive, as well as you and your friends. He thought about detaining you earlier, at the other dig site, but decided against it, considering Professor Swain and Isaiah might provide insight as to how to continue through the chambers."

Shane was back to trying to figure out what in the world was going on, as pieces of the puzzle were being presented to him, though the picture was not getting any clearer.

"He came back down here with Natia and the girl, and they were following the cult leader and the members. I know they all went through that door. It’s the same door he went through two days ago. It must have somehow closed and been sealed from the inside. Likely something the cult did."

"Well, we just need to unseal it," Shane said, eyeing the sledgehammer. He strode over, already leaning down to pick up the handle of the long hammer when something struck him.

The hammer.

He looked down at it, noticing its shape.

It looks like…

"Omar, let me ask you a question: what does this whole complex look like? If you were to look at it from above… what would you say it looks like?"

Omar shrugged, closing his eyes as he thought. "I guess… uh, long, narrow. That descending passageway—it's hard to get a grasp on, it was so tall, yet so narrow."

"Right, but it was long, wasn't it? Like… the handle of a sledgehammer?"

Omar's face registered no recognition. Shane dropped the hammer and walked over to the half-destroyed façade. It was covered in glyphs, a language Shane still didn't know how to read—he'd only been exposed to them a few times in his entire life.

But there was one in particular he was looking for.

He wasn't sure he'd find it, but he gave the wall a quick scan anyway.

Finally, near the bottom, just before an edge of the façade that had been chipped away revealing empty stone beneath, he saw it.

It didn't look like a sledgehammer, not really. But the general shape was there.

He remembered Professor Swain pointing it out back at the mastaba earlier.

He pointed to it, his finger touching the ancient scrolling. "This one," he said. "Do you know what it is?"

Omar scrutinized it for a few seconds. "I don't. I must admit, I know very little about the ancient Egyptian language."

"Pretty sure it's a scepter. A was or something like that."

Omar nodded. "The was, yes. I know what these are. And yes, that has to be it. It looks just like one."

Shane examined closer, aided now by Omar's light being fully pointed toward it, and he looked back down at the sledgehammer, then thought about the passageway they traveled down. His finger traced the scepter from top to bottom, from the tiny elongated animal head down the straight shaft, to the two feet at the bottom.

"Omar, I believe this whole place was built to resemble a scepter. The layout, the floorplan. Would that make sense?"

Omar shrugged again. "Sure. Everything the ancients did had meaning, everything was symbolism or reference, even invocation of the gods themselves. So yes, this could very well be a place designed to look like an earthly subterranean was.”

"What does it mean?" Shane asked. "Swain said something about the scepter, how important it was in ancient life. It represented dominion, power."

"Osiris would have had immense power, especially near the end of his life if he was truly deified. His dominion would be great, his reign uniting the upper and lower Nile, basically all of Egypt."

"Seems like an apt metaphor to me," Shane said. "But that's not the point." He turned back and continued tracing the tiny hieroglyphs to its base. There, he watched as it split into two smaller parts, the two ends of a mermaid's tail trailing beneath the was.

“The point is, there isn’t a point,” he said. “There are two points.” He pointed at the base of the was.

“Two passageways," Omar whispered. He and Shane both glanced over at the corner, at the sealed door.

"You said you were here a couple days ago," Shane said. "You think you were the first people in here since it was built?"

Omar nodded. "Without a doubt, yes. There were even… remains."

This revelation shocked Shane, but he didn't show it. "You found dead people in here?"

"In that chamber," Omar said, once again motioning toward the small door. "Skeletons, likely grave robbers who got trapped inside, much like they are now. He had us remove them, for some reason I don't understand. But yes, there were remains. However, we didn't have time to study the room further. Needed to make sure the cult and you thought you were the first ones to find this place, that you would be the first ones inside. Only then would you feel confident there was a way forward."

"And we would be forced to figure it out. To do Zari's work for him."

"Yes."

"How much of the rest of this place did you examine?" Shane asked. He was already in motion, walking the opposite direction from the tiny door, away from the archway and façade.

"We didn't have much time at all. Hours, only. He was amazed at the state this place was in, you saw that upstairs. There have been no collapses, either. We didn't have to clear much rock or sand, and the cult cleaned up the little that had fallen from the blocked stairs above."

"Did your team unblock the stairs?"

Omar nodded. "There were two boulders rolled over it, but we had a small excavator to help move them out of the way. After that, everything was open to us. We came down, looked around quickly, found that room, and Zari ordered us out. We went back to Cairo then, waiting for whatever he thought was next."

"That's when you heard of the archaeological dig massacre — the six people who died there. Killed by the cult?”

"Yes, it was exactly what Zari feared. The Order of Ascension cultists visited, killed everyone around, then decided it was not worth the time to explore further.”

"Because Osiris was never buried there," Shane said solemnly.

"Right. They didn't care, of course. They just wanted everyone out of their way, no witnesses. Anyway, I was with Zari when we first saw you. When you arrived at that scene, it put Zari's plan into motion. To follow you, see if you could make progress with the cult."

Shane shook his head. The entire time, they had been playing right into Zari's hands.

But once again he was reminded of how little time they had left. Whatever was happening behind that door—whatever was happening to Natia and the others—wasn't going to end well. Even if they succeeded in finding a way forward, Zari was planning something sinister.

He crouched down, now facing the opposite corner of the room, picturing the layout of this complex in his mind's eye. If he was right, this is where another door should be. Though he couldn't see any outline whatsoever, he rubbed his hand over the stone surface.

He couldn't feel any cracks, any fissures at all. It seemed to be one solid block of stone. But when his hand slid all the way to the edge of the room where the two walls connected, his fingernail caught in a tiny depression. He pressed gently, and a piece of the stone fell away.

It was hardened sand that had caked on, and with a little more force, he rubbed with his fingers to get more of the sand away.

Omar was there now, holding the light so he could see.

It's working.

He was beside himself with excitement—he had figured it out. There was indeed another door here, one that matched in size to the other one. If he was right, they could get this door open and find some sort of smaller passageway, representing one of the two tail ends of the was scepter. They’d descended the larger passageway—the main shaft of the was—and before that they'd been in the antechamber—the head of the scepter.

Now, they were in the tail of the was. And if his theory was correct, these two smaller passageways formed that split tail. Perhaps each ended in a dead end, or, more likely, they represented the end of the scepter, but the end of the subterranean space.

He guessed the dead end the others had found, the one Zari had discovered two days prior, was not the end at all. If they could figure out how to continue, Shane believed they would find another room entirely.

A room holding the tomb of Osiris himself.

CHAPTER 70

SHANE

Shane had pushed the stone in, eventually hearing a deep thud as the base of the door slid over some sort of rolling mechanism that aided its movement. He was amazed, never having seen anything like this in his life, and certainly not ever having discovered something so miraculous.

But he had a job to do, so he lay down and crawled forward like a snake, headfirst into the hole.

Omar had given him his flashlight, and while it helped keep the claustrophobia at bay, it wasn't a perfect antidote. Shane noticed the passageway narrowing—realizing that made perfect sense, considering they were in one of the sides of the tail end of the was scepter. Of course, it would narrow, tapering off to a point.

The question was: could someone as large as Shane squeeze through the other end of it?

It turned out he could, though it had taken much effort and completely releasing the air in his lungs enough to compact his torso. But he'd succeeded, finding himself inside a larger room. He stood up, waited for Omar to enter, then together the two men stared in wonder at the space they were in.

Armed only with a flashlight, it was difficult to take in everything about the space, but Shane tried to piece it together in his mind as the flashlight danced across the room. It seemed to be split into two sections, with a 6-inch deep rectangular gutter running to the center. There was a stone box at one side on his right, and some sort of ancient machine on his left, a pole resting on two others, with a smaller box behind it.

On the wall, he saw three rectangular recesses, each holding three vases. The vases looked like bowling pins, tapered at the top and a bit wider closer to the base. As far as he could tell, there was nothing else inside.

No bodies, no remains of any sort. A truth Shane was happy to discover.

"I don't think this space has ever been opened. I think it was sealed and forgotten."

Shane nodded, not wanting to talk and ruin the reverence of the moment. Though they were running out of time—whatever Zari's plan was in the mirrored chamber next to theirs, Shane suspected if they didn't find what they were looking for quickly, all hell would break loose.

"You said Zari was going to kill them all, and he did seem rather confident as he took Natia downstairs. What's his plan?"

"You mean how is he going to do it?" Omar asked.

Shane nodded.

"I have no idea, honestly," Omar said. "You're right that he's not going to go up against the cult guys with just a pistol. It would be suicide. And Zari fancies his life a lot more than just leaving his fate up to chance.”

"Well, he's got something up his sleeve. He knew exactly where he was going, and taking Natia might not have been his best idea, but even though she'll put up a fight, I don't suspect Zari will let it get that far. He's probably going to surprise them all with something. But only if they can figure out how to get out of the room."

"Right," Omar said. "Which begs the question: what is this room? We can assume it looks just like the one they're in, perhaps mirrored, but I don't understand what we're looking at. Do you?"

"Not exactly an Egyptologist, unfortunately," Shane said. He stepped across the rut, only partly surprised he wasn't immediately cut to ribbons by some secret ancient alien laser technology. He didn't think Egyptian temples and pyramids were booby-trapped like they were in popular fiction, but then again, no one had ever seen a place quite like this before.

If they were going to be trapped inside, he suspected it was because the builders of this place weren't trying to dissuade people from entering, but rather to dissuade people they didn't think were worthy of entering.

In that case…

"This is all symbolism, right?” he began. “The number of vases here—nine—probably means something that's not clear to us. But the fact that there are two rooms, likely mirrored since the doorways are on opposite sides next to the façade at the end of the was scepter—all means something. There are actaully eighteen vases, and six of the little insets they’re in. Two ruts.”

Shane’s eyes widened. “I doubt we can enter this side and get back out now. That's probably why they got trapped over there. They messed with something in here, and it caused the door to seal behind them."

"You're thinking it requires a team on both sides? One in this room, one in that room?"

Shane's eyes narrowed as he examined the vases closer. "That's my theory, yeah. Only the worthy were allowed to enter, to honor their dead god-man Osiris. But no single person would ever be considered worthy enough to enter alone. It would require teamwork, at least two people operating… whatever all of this is."

"Can you figure out what it is?" Omar asked. "How to operate it?"

Shane glanced over at the fishing pole-like structure set up on the far side. "Again, not an Egyptologist. That looks like one of those shaduf things, though. Something Swain mentioned. Meant to move water up and down, to make it easier to fill buckets or something.”

"I've seen them," Omar said. "But there is no water in here. And I don't understand what the symbolism would be."

Shane shrugged. "Osiris was an agricultural guy too, right? Not just some lowly god, shouting orders down from the heavens. He was a salt-of-the-earth type guy.”

He smiled as he approached the wall of vases. He reached out, his hands careful, and placed them around the neck of one of the vases. He picked it up, noticing that a rope reached out from its opening. He pulled it off the wall easily, noticing its substantial weight only when it was no longer supported by the inset.

He lowered it a bit, noticing the rope go tense and then begin pulling. It was connected to the top of the inset, but Shane couldn't see past where it ended.

But as soon as the rope tightened, he heard the sound of trickling water. He placed the vase back into its spot, turning around quickly as Omar pointed the light down at the rut running through the center of the room. A tiny stream was forming, water pouring forth from somewhere deep inside the subterranean complex.

He began to step away from the middle inset, but his elbow brushed against the vase, knocking it and its neighbor forward.

Shit.

He turned around and tried to right them, but overcorrected. Both vases fell, crashing off the inset and then slamming back into the stone wall, the ropes both pulled taut.

The stream grew, water beginning to gush faster from the opening.

"I think you made it go faster," Omar said.

"I did. Not sure why, though. Is that what this is, then? Some crude control mechanism for the flow of water?"

Omar didn't offer a response, but he was busy shining his light down into the gutter and stream of water as it began rising.

CHAPTER 71

JACK

Water was now pouring into the chamber. It had already flowed over the edge of the rut, and Jack was standing ankle-deep in it. He felt it lapping up against his shins, rising by the second.

Confusion reigned. The cultist crouched in the corner was soaking wet, still holding his burned, disfigured hand. Isaiah looked frantic, his face pale. Clive and Zari had not stopped eyeing each other since he'd entered, but it was clear to everyone – Jack especially – that tensions were high. He was on edge, and he knew Natia was doing her best not to simply start killing everyone inside.

He wondered why she hadn’t done anything to take control of the situation. Obviously, she wouldn't attack him or Isaiah, but everyone else she could put down handily, should she choose to do so. So why hadn't she attacked at least Zari already? Surely Clive and the others would allow that to happen, but for some reason, she didn't.

Does she have another plan?

She stood, stoic, next to Jack as the water increased. He wasn't sure how it happened, or why, but a few seconds earlier the gentle flow that had nearly filled the central gutter increased, now a torrential influx. He knew the reservoir it was coming from must be above them, as it had already filled the room up to a few inches, and didn't appear to be stopping anytime soon.

And yet, that was still the least of their concerns. The open sarcophagus was still spewing out toxic gas, the greenish haze now covering the ceiling, about three inches down the walls.

He snapped his fingers, and all eyes turned to him.

"The gas and the water – they’re mirroring each other."

Clive frowned. "Come again?"

"There's a few inches of water on the floor, and a few inches of gas in the air. I’d bet they’re filling at the same rate."

Jack turned to Natia, who offered a small smile of approval.

Next to him, Isaiah whispered, "As above, so below."

Jack's eyes widened. "Yes, this is all a test! ‘As above, so below.’ The ancient Egyptians knew their god Osiris was reflected in the heavens by the constellation Orion. My theory is that they reflected that back here on Earth with the primary eighteen points of their version of the constellation.

“We’re inside the most important point right now — the actual Tomb of Osiris. It’s not a pyramid, as I suspected, but it is still the most important ancient site. The symbolism wouldn’t end just because we entered, either.”

“What are you getting at?” Clive asked.

Jack continued. “We aren't worthy just because we could crawl through a small hole, forced to our hands and knees before God-King Osiris. No, that's too simple. Too obvious. This is the real test – staying alive in this room while it fills with toxic air and the floor with water."

"Osiris carried those to the afterlife over water," Isaiah added.

Jack snapped again. "Yes! This is all part of Osiris's cult, the beliefs the ancient Egyptians had during Osiris's time of worship."

"Go on," Zari said, clearly interested in hearing how they might be able to escape from this death chamber. "And why did the water suddenly start pumping faster?"

"That I… don't know," Jack admitted. "But those canisters – canopic jars – on the wall over there. They must have something to do with the flow speed. That or the amount of gas being dumped in."

"Nine jars split between three windows," Clive said. "Does that mean anything to you?"

Jack shook his head, stumped. "The only thing I can think of is that we are supposed to pull down a certain number of them, possibly in a certain configuration. Like the first jar on each window, or something like that."

"Or something else entirely," Isaiah said. All eyes turned to him now. "Sorry – I'm not saying that's my theory, I'm just saying the risk seems quite high, no? What if we’re wrong, and we pull the wrong ones?”

"If we don't do something," Clive snapped, "we're going to be killed by having our faces melted or by drowning. Take your pick – I really don't like either one of those options."

Heads nodded in agreement.

Jack closed his eyes for a moment, then looked at Clive, still standing on the opposite side of the room. "Clive, try pulling down the center vase on the left and right side."

"Are you sure?" he asked.

Jack shook his head. "I'm not. But we need more information. I don't suspect there's going to be another set of traps, we're only going to expedite the amount of water or the amount of gas pumped in here."

"That's not a good option," Zari said.

Jack turned to him. "You have a better idea?"

The government man looked like he was about to rip Jack's head off, but quickly calmed himself. Finally, he nodded over to Clive. "Do it."

Clive obliged, hesitantly, and pulled the first of the vases off the wall. The canopic jar fell, much like the first, and thunked against the stone wall, its rope pulling whatever hidden lever lay above and beyond.

The effect was immediate. Gas began pouring out of the sarcophagus, the haze growing thicker. The mercenary crouched in the corner leaned to the side, then shuffled closer to Clive. The other mercenary stood near Zari, still in awe. He held his assault rifle, but it was clear he was no longer interested in shooting anyone in here.

"That made things worse!" Clive said. However, he stepped over to the third wall inset and pulled the center jar down as well.

The water level rose almost immediately, another inch in just a second. At this rate, it would be less than a minute before the entire chamber was full.

Jack shook his head, suddenly feeling the panic and terror of the moment hit him all at once.

While he hadn't directly sealed their fate, his idea had failed miserably. They were certainly doomed. He wouldn't risk pulling the rest of the jars down – what good would that do, especially if they were on the wrong track, if these jars weren't meant to be their saving grace at all.

CHAPTER 72

SHANE

Shane walked over to the sarcophagus at the side of the room, eyeing it.

"What is it?" Omar asked.

“You’re the Egyptian," Shane joked. "Aren't you supposed to know everything about your country's history?"

Omar shrugged. "I'm a Central Security Force soldier. And Army before that. I spent most of my life training to be a fighter. They don't really go into too much detail about history. They're more interested in making sure we shoot straight and follow orders.”

"Yeah, that tracks. Anyway, this looks like a sarcophagus. Here, help me with the lid."

Shane figured they were either about to find the bones of some mummy or a lever or something that might let them through this chamber and onto the next.

Or, nothing at all. It was very likely this place had already been looted, anything of value taken and resealed.

Omar walked over, and together the two men shoved the heavy stone lid forward a few inches. Shane thought he felt some sort of clicking as they did, like rubber bands stretched over years. It was more mechanical, though he didn't see anything metal or wood inside, and he wondered if the entire thing had been fashioned out of stone and pieces of rock. He knew Egyptian craftsmanship to be some of the best in the world, especially during the time this place had been built. If they wanted something like this to last forever, stone would've been a good choice, especially considering they had done well to keep the elements out.

He stepped back as a puff of smoke blew out the widening crack.

He felt a tingling on his knuckles as some of the smoke passed over his hand. He pulled it back, suddenly feeling a lancing of pain.

"Omar, get back!" he exclaimed.

The smoke was billowing now – and he realized then it wasn't smoke at all… but some sort of gas. It had a greenish hue to it, like a chemical added to a crackling fire.

But it wasn't hot… it was poison. He looked at his knuckles, seeing them immediately start to bubble, a few fissures even turning red and beginning to pop.

"It's melting my damn skin," Shane said. He tried wiping it away on his pants, but it only caused him to howl in agony. The gaseous chemical had narrowly nicked him, and he felt lucky it hadn't caught more of his open skin.

"Are you okay?" Omar asked.

Shane saw his hand dry, the chemical barely touching it, finishing its reaction. He stepped up to the lid once more, careful to dodge the smoke, and placed his fingers under the small lip there once more. "I say we get this thing shut, yeah?”

Omar nodded quickly. Together they began sliding the lid back in place, but after a few seconds of sliding, Shane heard something much louder than a click.

Thud.

He stopped. "What the hell was that?"

Omar dropped his hands from the lid and darted back to the entrance of this weird chamber. At the same time, Shane noticed the water level rapidly increasing. Already, the water was lapping over the edges of the gutter running down the center of the rectangular room.

"Whatever we just did, it released some gas and started pumping more water in here."

Omar turned, after having examined the small hole they crawled in from.

"I have worse news," he said.

Shane rolled his eyes. "Let me guess. We're now locked in here?"

Omar nodded.

Shane glanced over at the two vases dangling from their ropes against the wall in their insets. "I think those have something to do with this," he said. He walked quickly to that side of the room and pulled the third jar in that inset down. Like the others, the heavy weight of the jar pulled against some force hidden above them, an invisible lever.

The water level began rising conspicuously.

"Well, shit," Shane said. "I don’t usually hate when I'm right."

Omar ran over, kicking up a puddle of water that was starting to form around the gutter. Shane watched the side of the room the water was coming in from, wondering how it was propelled in here with so much force.

"You got any bright ideas?" he asked. "You think one of these jar things stops the gas and water?"

Shane waited for Omar to respond, but he was looking up at the ceiling. He wondered if there were some hidden air holes there, where the gas would leave.

But judging by the water already reaching all four sides of the room, he figured it was wishful thinking. The water was not draining out, and nor was the gas.

"It's a trap," Omar said quietly. "The builders of this place – they just trapped us inside. And they'll kill us slowly."

Shane frowned. "As opposed to killing us quickly?"

"What do you mean?" Omar asked.

"Well, if they just wanted to kill us, why wouldn't they have done it already? They had every opportunity to build something in here that would kill us. Maybe make that door slap shut when we snuck into the tunnel. Or – that's it! Remember Indiana Jones? Gets into a temple and starts pulling on things, only for arrows to shoot out and hit that bloke?”

Omar's expression told Shane he had never seen Indiana Jones. Possibly never even heard of the guy.

"Nevermind," Shane said. "My point is that if they wanted to kill us quickly, they would have done it in a much easier, faster way. All of this –" he motioned with his arm out around the room "– is rather elaborate, wouldn't you say? My guess is it's a trap, sure, but not one meant to just kill us. That's too simple, too easy. I'm thinking they built this place to allow only people who understood its purpose, its meaning, to pass. But it is absolutely possible to pass through. There's something on the other side of this chamber, as long as we can figure out what to do, and do it right."

"And do it in time."

Shane nodded. "Yeah, there's that." He looked up, noticing the gas spraying out from the sarcophagus-like stone box even faster now.

He frowned, wondering how that was possible. "You think that last jar I pulled made the gas and water go quicker?"

"Seems odd, right?" Omar asked. "I would have thought pulling the jars down would make either the gas or the water go faster, like some puzzle we're supposed to figure out. You know, like pull the middle one from each window out and we either get gas or water, but never both?"

"That was my thinking, too," Shane said. "In that case, I suspect the guys in the other room are dealing with the same thing. And since we decided these rooms are probably mirrors of one another, I’d bet my grandma's secret chocolate chip cookie recipe – that what we do in here affects them, and vice versa.”

Omar nodded. "Yes, that has to be it." He stopped, thinking for a moment. "In that case, we need to figure how to communicate with them. Maybe by pulling the ropes we can make a noise, like ringing a bell or something."

Shane didn't buy it, but he allowed Omar the opportunity to step up and pull one of the ropes.

Not only did it not make a noise, bell-like or otherwise, the rope was slack and wouldn't even pull now that its lever had been activated. Omar yanked on it a couple of times, then placed it back into its body, the rope still dangling loose behind.

"Okay, well, good guess anyway."

He heard a noise and turned his head to see yet even more gas spilling out. There was now about six inches of gas at the top of the room, and judging by its height, it would soon reach his head – and subsequently start melting the hair off of it – in about a minute or less.

The water lapped against his ankles now, and that didn't seem to be slowing down either.

As he watched the water, still trying to think through the unique puzzle they found themselves in, he heard the noise of rushing water grow in volume.

He looked up at Omar, his heart sinking.

A burst of water spewed forth from the rectangular opening in the gutter at the edge of the room, like the bottom of a dam being opened. Immediately the tiny wave hit the back of his leg, and the water level rose another inch.

"Well, whatever it is they're doing in there, I really wish they'd knock it off."

CHAPTER 73

JACK

"Stop!" Natia shouted.

Jack looked at her, then at Clive, who had just pulled the fourth jar from its place. This time, the gas level increased again, the haze growing thicker and billowing out as it hit the ceiling.

Everyone instantly ducked, even Clive, who was almost a foot shorter than everyone else in the room.

"We just need to get it over with," Clive said. "The Egyptians built this place to scare us away. Now we're trapped inside, and the only mechanism we have to change our fate is these stupid jars. Whatever they are for, we should at least pull all of them. Who knows? Maybe once we get all nine jars off the base, all the levers pulled, the water and gas..."

"And what if it doesn't?" Zari asked.

"Then we're dead anyway."

Jack stepped forward, everyone turning to him. “Actually… I think Clive is right," Jack said. "Not because I think it will stop, but because we really don't have any other option. If it does stop, it's going to stop with whatever gas level and water level is in the room. At least, that’s my guess. That means the quicker we do it, the more breathable air is left in the room. The longer we wait, the less air."

It made sense, but he still felt he needed to be clear.

"But as Zari said, it may not stop it at all."

"So what do we do?" Isaiah asked.

Jack paused for a long moment. "Pull them all down. Quickly. If you're going to do it, there's no reason to go slow."

Clive hesitated, standing next to the far right inset, its three vases still in place. He looked around the room, his eyes even landing on his followers, waiting for everyone's approval.

The nods came quickly. Zari himself even agreed.

Clive let out a deep breath, then was joined by his mercenary cult follower, and both men yanked the remaining jars out of their places.

All nine jars now hung freely, all levers attached to the ropes spewing from their mouths.

Jack held his breath, waiting.

He didn't have to wait long. Suddenly the sarcophagus sputtered, coughing, then blew a massive puff of smoke-like haze into the room. At the same time, a torrent of water shot into the room, immediately increasing the flow rate to about two inches higher every second.

Oh God, he thought. What have I done?

He had miscalculated – horribly.

Natia pulled Isaiah to the side, while Zari turned back and looked at the tiny hole they crawled in from. Even if the exit door was open, the entire passageway was underwater now. And Jack knew it couldn't be open – the water would have had an escape if that were the case.

"We're trapped," Zari said quietly. "Just as I suspected."

Jack met his eyes, wondering what he meant. They had alreay been trapped – why did Zari think that only now they were trapped?

Jack could visibly see the gas line moving down the wall over Clive's and the mercenaries' heads. It was creeping down on all four sides, the bright light of the work lamp casting everything in an eerie green glow as it was reflected by the droplets. The water seemed to have calmed, but only because the rectangular opening it was spewing from was now completely submerged. There was a slight bubbling on the surface near that wall, but he could also see the water level rising now, a couple of inches per second.

He knew then they were all going to die.

CHAPTER 74

SHANE

Shane let out a whistle. "Kinda puts new meaning on being ‘stuck between a rock and a hard place,’ eh?”

It was rhetorical, but he knew the phrase had gone completely over Omar's head. Lost in translation again, Shane thought.

"Okay, snap to it. We gotta figure this out."

"What's to figure out?"

“Way I see it,” Shane said, “those jars are affecting something. Either in this room, or the one next door. Possibly both.”

Omar was nodding along.

“And if the symbolism holds up, and there actually is another room over there that mirrors this one, these nine jars will have nine counterparts in there. That’s eighteen total — the amount of stars in the Orion constellation that the Egyptians recognized.”

Omar looked at him strangely.

Shane shrugged. “Some nerd told me that; I just remembered it in case it was ever useful information.” He paused. “But moving that sarcophagus door only allowed the gas to start spilling in. We can't close it, at least not like this. Maybe by getting it over with, getting all those jars pulled and opening all those levers up there, we'll either drain the water evenly between both rooms, or the gas.

“Unless there's enough water and gas to fill both rooms, that might be the answer. To just let it all drain out. It could be the final test. But do we have the stomach for something like that?"

"Yes, it could work," Omar said. "But it also could –"

"Again, I'm choosing to be an optimist now, Omar. Yeah, it may not work. But I don't see any other way out here, and I certainly don't see any other light switches or things to pull that might change our fate."

"True."

"All right, help me then. Let's get all these things off their bases and yank on some ropes."

Omar joined him, and together the two men pulled all the vases, one at a time, and let them rest for a few seconds after each one to see what the progress was.

After two had been pulled down, Shane stopped, realizing the water and gas had stopped as well.

"Hold it!" he yelled, holding up his hand behind him. He turned to see Omar with his hands around one of the jars. “Wait, don't do that. It stopped."

Omar looked around, finally realizing Shane was right. The gas had stopped, as had the water.

Except… he had been wrong.

Or, rather, he had been right only for a moment.

As quickly as it stopped, and the gas and water started pouring into the room once more. Shane let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding.

This time, the gas and water came out much faster than it had been before.

"Dammit," Shane said. "I really thought that was it."

"Let's just pull them all down," Omar said. "Maybe you're still right, and the others were doing something over there that stopped it for a moment."

Shane didn't have time to argue. He didn't know what he would argue if he did have the time. He listened to Omar's instruction, copying his motions as the younger man began pulling down more jars.

In a few more seconds, they were done. All nine jars hung down from their ropes, dangling tightly, the levers hidden above pulled.

And the gas and water had only picked up speed.

The water was up to his knees, the gas now about 9 inches from the ceiling and lowering quickly. Shane's tall figure was going to be the first resistance it met in a few minutes, and it wouldn't be much resistance at all.

He shuddered as he thought of the poisonous chemical scorching the hair off his head, then melting him from the skull down. He crouched involuntarily, only reminded that the water was also rising quickly.

More like ‘stuck between a liquid and a gas place,’ he thought.

He felt no humor in it, though. It was difficult being an optimist in a situation like this. And he had to admit, he'd never been in a situation quite like this.

What were they supposed to do now? Should he risk opening the sarcophagus lid further? Would it even move, now that they tried to push it back into place?

He closed his eyes, not wanting to see Omar's terrified figure shaking in fear as he too crouched in the water. He thought to himself, forced his mind into gear.

Think, Riley. Figure this one out.

But he couldn't. He tried the only thing he could think of doing, and it had failed.

He thought of Kate, how much he missed her, of how he shouldn't have ever gone on that trip to Switzerland, where he met Natia and got excited about the prospect of becoming a ‘retrieval expert.’

What the hell was that, anyway? It was a laughable idea, that he could actually do something like that. Even more humorous was his two rules, both of which were broken every time he embarked on a mission like this.

He was a loser, a failure. Kate must have known that, up until the moment she had been kidnapped and murdered. He hadn't been able to save her then, and he wouldn't be able to save himself now.

He also thought of Michaela, as much as he willed his mind not to. She was there, urging him forward, her face smiling.

As stupid as it was to imagine her actually alive in his subconscious, he couldn't help but do just that. And she wasn't scared, she wasn't upset with him. She knew something.

What are you trying to tell me, Michaela?

She’d always had a mischievous way about her, always been interested in puzzles, games like this. Only this wasn't a game – was it?

He opened his eyes as he realized something.

"The timing."

"What?" Omar shouted, having to raise his voice a lot over the roaring of the water gushing into the room.

"The timing!" Shane said.

If the theory had been correct, both rooms should have stopped pumping gas and water the moment Shane and Omar finished pulling the vases down.

Assuming, of course, the counterpart group in the other room had done the same and pulled all nine of their vases down already. Perhaps they were still debating what to do, but Shane knew they were running out of time and assumed they would come to the same conclusion. That meant they now had to wait, their fates wrapped up with the souls next door, for them to decide to pull all nine vases down.

But he couldn't sit still and wait – that wasn't in his nature. That seemed to be what Michaela was telling him. Keep trying, keep moving, keep going, she seemed to be saying.

He sighed, his shoulders sagging as he tried arguing with the imaginary friend in his mind. I did try, he thought. I tried everything.

Try again.

He shook his head, annoyed, but stood up and walked back over to the wall of vases. Water was at his hips now, cold and smelling a bit off from sitting in its cistern for however many centuries. He assumed rainwater refilled it, but couldn't be sure. The gas he could smell as well, it had a metallic tinge to it, and he hoped he wasn't actually breathing in tiny particulate matter, that he was just smelling the outer wave of gas, and not about to ignite his insides.

He strode over to the closest inset to him, examining the ropes. He stepped back, seeing that all vases hung equally.

He stepped to the next one, noticing the same thing.

Finally, he stepped over to Omar's and immediately saw that one of the vases hung slightly higher than the others. Omar had lifted it off its base and let it fall, but it didn't seem to have been pulled all the way down. He grabbed it in two hands, seeing Michaela's face nodding excitedly in his mind, then pulled a little bit harder.

Slowly the rope lengthened, and he thought he heard a dull, faint clicking sound high above him.

The vases were suddenly all aligned, the ropes pulled to the maximum length. All nine sat silently against the wall.

He gave it a final, hard tug.

And then the water and gas suddenly stopped.

CHAPTER 75

JACK

There were whoops of joy, a few discrete sobs, and one exasperated sigh as the water and gas finally stopped coming in. The water level was now up to his hips, just below his waist, and the gas had receded to about a foot below the ceiling. It left a decent gap to breathe in, but with all the people in the room, Jack wasn't entirely sure how long that would last. Whatever was supposed to happen – besides the water and gas turning off – needed to happen before they all ran out of air and died anyway.

Natia walked over and hugged him, then noticed the surprised look on his face.

"What?" she asked. "I can be sentimental."

His mouth opened and closed, but he didn't speak.

He shook his head, not wanting to follow this train of thought, but also unable to help himself. Not yet. “I…”

And just like that, she was gone. What he thought was just her acting before, playing the flirtatious coed to get him interested, to get him talking, now seemed to be something more.

Was she showing actual interest in him? Was she still acting?

He didn't have time to wonder.

"What now?" Zari asked. It was clear he was used to being the leader, used to his orders being followed.

Even now, the mercenary cultist was looking to him for direction. The one with two working hands gripped his assault rifle tightly, as if expecting an enemy to appear from the sarcophagus.

"It's got to be the sarcophagus," Shane said suddenly. "That's the only way out. The door behind us is still shut, the water is not draining. The gas isn't dissipating either, so while we've stopped both for now, I have a feeling we're supposed to keep moving forward."

"And that's the only thing we can all fit through," Isaiah said. "I don't see any other doors, nothing else we can open."

"What about the gas?" Clive asked.

"It stopped, so my guess is it's sealed up once again. The sarcophagus is still open, remember? Which tells me we can probably open it more now without having to worry about it hitting us in the face."

They had taken a risk once before, so why not again?

He confidently walked across the room and met eyes with the mercenary closest to the sarcophagus. "Want to give me a hand?" he asked.

The mercenary didn't seem to understand his words, but knew his intent. He nodded, then let the assault rifle fall on its sling. With his hands now freed, he gripped the sarcophagus, and together they slid it open.

It clicked again, but rolled over whatever mechanism lay inside easily.

When it was about halfway open, just before the lid would have toppled off, it stopped. Shane put a bit more force behind it, but it was clear it was done moving.

He nodded a thanks to the mercenary, then looked down into inky blackness.

"Anyone have a flashlight?" he asked.

Clive hurried over with his, jostling into position so he could see what lay inside the sarcophagus.

As both men, each the juxtaposition of the other, leaned over, Jack’s mouth fell open.

“Oh, my God,” he said. “It’s…”

"What is it?" Zari hissed.

Jack finally found his voice. “It's – it's a passageway."

CHAPTER 76

JACK

Everyone ran over to peer into the sarcophagus opening. Their fates no longer hanging in the balance between sending noxious gas and rising water, spirits seemed to be high.

Jack felt Nadia's hand brush up against his. He glanced over at her, but she didn't seem to notice. She was staring down into the hole as well.

"How deep is it?" Isaiah asked.

"Impossible to tell," Clive said.

Zari unclipped something from his belt – a magazine for his pistol, Jack noticed – held it over the hole, then dropped it.

Jack knew he was as interested as the rest in discovering what this place was and how deep this shaft was, but he was also surprised Zari didn't seem to need the extra ammunition. It meant he either had no intention of using his weapon or no intention of using it on any of them. Both reasons gave Jack a little relief.

The magazine fell for a few seconds, then clattered to a stone floor far below, echoing upward.

It was difficult to read with just the tiny flashlight that only reached halfway down the shaft, but it sounded as though the magazine had fallen into a large, open space.

"Look at that!" Clive said, pointing with his flashlight at the side of the wall inside the sarcophagus.

Jack immediately saw three jars of similar build to the ones hanging on the wall. These were attached to the inside of the sarcophagus chamber, as if welded on. They were also made of stone and had likely been carved the same way this stone box had been. There were holes in the top, aiming right at the edge of the sarcophagus, where the lid had first been slid open.

"That's where the gas must have come from," Isaiah said.

But no gas spilled from them now, and Clive used the flashlight to illuminate the opposite side of the sarcophagus, under the half of the lid that hung over the far edge of the sarcophagus.

Jack looked at the wall there, directly beneath the lid. It took a moment, but he saw what Clive had just noticed. Slight indentations in the wall, all the way down the shaft as far as the light could reach.

"It's a ladder," Clive said softly.

"We were right," Jack said. "This is the way forward."

Nadia looked at him finally, her eyes twinkling. "No, you found it, Professor.”

Jack once again felt the stirrings within him, except these weren't the stirrings of a man smitten with a woman, but the stirrings of adventure. As much as he wanted to dwell on Nadia's look and the expression she had just given him, to dwell on her words and the soft soothing sound of her voice, the sarcophagus and the ladder they had just discovered were more of a temptress in this moment.

He wanted, once again, to be the first man down. He stood up, pulling his leg up and over the edge of the sarcophagus, straddling it as he sat on its edge.

"I'll go ahead down," Jack said. "Clive, mind if I borrow your light?"

Clive seemed caught off guard for a moment, but handed the light to him. It was clear the smaller, roundish man was a bit nervous about what lay down there. Rightfully so – they had just been trapped in a room with death on all sides, and Jack thought it crazy they were about to subject themselves to potentially the same thing.

It was also clear the space down there was different, the ladder long, the shaft tall. Whatever was down there, was very deep underground.

No one argued as Jack pulled his leg out across the open chasm, finding one of the indentations beneath the lid. He used the lid to clamp both hands on, letting his body dangle for a moment as his left leg then found an indentation. He carefully bent his back as he reached forward with his left hand, eventually finding the higher rung of the ladder. Finally feeling confident, he began climbing down, releasing the lid and bringing his head down directly beneath it.

He climbed slowly, ensuring he had a good grip all the way down. His loafers were far from ideal, soggy socks still dripping water, but he decided having shoes was far better than trying to go barefoot.

About halfway down, he looked up and saw the mercenary clut member climbing down above him. Jack was hoping they'd wait until he reached the bottom completely, but it seemed Zari and Clive were still in a hurry, funneling them all down one by one.

He kept his attention focused forward, ensuring his slippery wet hands and fingers wouldn't slide off the slick stone the ladder had been carved into. He worked this way for about 15 minutes, his body finally warming up, his wrists and calves eventually burning.

But he reached the bottom a few minutes later. The mercenary was still about halfway down, and he saw Nadia high above, looking down at him. Isaiah was next to go, and the younger kid took a bit longer to get his body into place and start climbing. Jack moved out of the way – if any of them fell, he didn't want to be squashed beneath them. If he had to die down here, he really wanted to die exploring an ancient subterranean temple, not because of human error.

He saw that the mercenary had another flashlight as well, one he had turned on and placed facing down in his pocket. Jack decided it was a good time to get a glimpse of what lay around him in the obviously much larger chamber now that he was down.

He turned around, holding in a breath, then used the light to get an idea of what lay around him.

This time, a true sense of awe and majesty encapsulated him. Never in his life had he thought he would actually see something like this. Never in his life had he thought something like this could even exist.

It had been postulated, considered, by many academics over the years. Egyptologists and archaeologists alike had argued at length about whether something like this were possible. But now, seeing it firsthand, he knew it to be very real. Not only possible, but here. He was standing inside of it.

Even in the dim, weak glow of Clive’s flashlight, Jack could see the sloping walls, all reaching a nexus far above his head.

He was standing inside a massive subterranean pyramid.

CHAPTER 77

JACK

Jack couldn't contain his excitement any longer. The mercenary and Isaiah were down now, and Natia was on the ladder above. He turned to Isaiah, shaking his shoulders. "Do you see? Do you see what it is?"

He used the flashlight to illuminate what he could of the sloping walls. The shaft descended straight down, landing them in a far corner of the four-walled pyramid. The walls sloped in steeply, coming to a point just out of reach of the flashlight's beam, but it was obvious the shape of the room.

The mercenary who had come down with Isaiah after Jack pulled out his own flashlight, letting his assault rifle slide over his shoulder. Together, both lights now effectively illuminated the floor of the wide space.

The pyramid was much smaller than the Great Pyramid of Giza, and seemed even smaller than the pyramid of Menkaure at that site. Jack guessed probably 100 feet on each wall at its base, perhaps 150 feet tall.

"It's incredible," Isaiah said. His voice was soft, reverent. "I can't believe we're actually standing inside it."

"This has to mean something, right?" Jack asked. "I mean, a pyramid actually built underground, carved from the stone bedrock. This must be the Pyramid of Osiris."

Jack could think of no other reason for this pyramid to exist other than to act as the final resting place of Osiris himself. There was nothing else like it in Egypt – in the entire world. And yet, he still had doubts. His academic mind was racing, trying to disprove each of them.

The most significant doubt he had was how this place could exist at all, but he found that the easiest to disprove — he was standing inside of it.

"Over there," Natia pointed as she reached the floor as well. Clive was clambering down the ladder next, the injured cultist and Zari still upstairs.

Jack followed Natia's finger, squinting into the darkness. Finally, he saw the shape come into view. Both flashlights landed on it at the same time.

"It looks like one of the boxes upstairs, the one we came through."

Jack nodded. "But I don't think it's meant to be blocking a shaft or designed to squirt gas into this room. I think it's exactly what we thought it was the first time."

"A sarcophagus," Isaiah and Natia said in unison.

“There's more," Jack whispered.

He finally took a step forward, not wanting to ruin the sanctity of the moment but also wanting to take it all in – to experience this fully. He walked toward the sarcophagus that lay across from him on the opposite side of the pyramid. As he approached, his light scanned left to right and back, illuminating the many objects laying around the base of Osiris's sarcophagus.

He saw artifacts, ancient treasures, piled in front of the tomb and even behind it. Two piles rose even higher than the sarcophagus itself, glittering and glinting in the light. Gold, jade, purple amethyst. Every color imaginable sparkled in his light. Chalices filled with more gold objects spilled out and onto the floor. He dodged what looked to be a gold rod, hooked and signifying it was the sort of shepherd's hook sometimes seen carried by the Egyptian gods, only this one far more ornate, designed to be a priceless gift.

He stepped around more such objects, amazed and delighted at every step. The others joined him, Clive finally reaching the floor and hustling over. Jack looked over his shoulder at the ladder they had come down, but didn't see Zari or the other mercenary. He wondered if the mercenary whose hand had been so grotesquely mutilated would attempt coming down, but his thoughts were interrupted by a sudden resonant blast.

He stopped in his tracks, now turning fully around. "What was that?" he asked. Everyone looked at each other, confused.

"It sounded like a gunshot," Clive said. “Zari must have shot my man upstairs.”

Natia seemed to understand what was happening first. She ran back toward the ladder, lithe and agile as ever, and jumped up onto it, ascending rapidly.

Jack was running back toward the ladder as well, but another sound reached his ears before he got there. A grinding, clicking sound. The door – the lid of the sarcophagus – was sliding shut.

Natia yelled up, "Zari, what are you doing?"

The clicking stopped, the grinding movement of the lid halted with only an inch left open. A second later, Zari's gravelly voice tumbled down. "I'm doing my job," he said. "Tying up loose ends. Protecting Egypt.”

Jack felt his heart race. His breaths were coming out ragged, short. He understood now what Zari's plan was all along. He didn't need to threaten them, didn't need to show physical force. He just needed to get them all in one place, where they could be sealed inside. For as long as it would take for them to all die.

Zari had all the time in the world. He knew where the site was, and he was the entire governing authority as to its excavation and exploration. As such, he could simply wait a month – two, six even. Their bodies would be partially decomposed, but they would be very dead. He would simply send another team down then, remove their bodies and dispose of them, and extract everything of value from this place.

It was a perfect plan, really. The Egyptian state would get access to an extremely important ancient site, all the treasures within, and the publicity of finding the actual tomb of Osiris.

"I'm sorry it had to end this way for you,” Zari continued. "But I hope you'll understand there was no other option. This really is the cleanest way forward."

"For you," Natia hissed.

"Yes, for me. Of course. I'm sorry you became collateral damage in all of this. But you must see it from my point of view. I get rid of the disease that is Clive and his cult, as well as all the outsiders who have no business here in Egypt. I've lost good men, but men are replaceable. My team is upstairs now, waiting for me to reappear on the surface safely. I assume three weeks will be enough time for you all to perish, but I'll give it a month just to be safe."

And with that, Zari was done. There was no more speech, no further explanation of his reasoning, no master plan outlined in gratuitous detail like some supervillain gloating over his imminent victory.

No time for them to come up with a plan.

Jack stood beneath Natia, who was almost up the ladder now when the lid continued closing. Zari had been speaking to them through a mere slit, an opening only a few inches wide. He hadn't wanted to take the chance of someone climbing up, not that it would matter.

The door closed with a final heavy thud, and Natia pounded on it, pressed against it, her hands balancing on the underside of it with her feet still planted on the ladder. She was upside down, with no leverage to actually move the heavy lid.

Jack knew the truth. Even if she could move it herself – even if two or three of them could somehow get up there and help her – it was sealed shut. Whatever locking mechanism they'd unlocked before, it was once again locked.

Jack stared in awe at the pyramid he was inside of, his wonder and awe for the place completely replaced by the realization that this wasn't just a tomb.

This was going to be his tomb.

CHAPTER 78

SHANE

"What do we do now?" Shane asked.

He hadn't directed the question at Omar as much as just asked the temple itself, but the younger man answered anyway.

"I have no idea. But at least the gas and water stopped."

Shane nodded, trudging through the waist-deep water, his head ducked a bit to escape the gas. It had indeed stopped, but it had not dissipated. He had been standing like this for a few minutes, relieved that his death was no longer imminent, but not wanting to disturb the subterranean complex any further and risk starting it all up again.

In the back of his mind, he thought that by figuring out how to turn off the gas and water funneling into the room, he would also figure out how to move forward through the complex. Apparently, there was a bit more puzzle left to solve.

"What about the lid of that box?" Omar asked. "Maybe we can open it now?"

"Maybe," Shane said, squinting at it in the dim light. "Not sure I want to risk it, though. What if it starts all this madness again?"

"Doesn't seem like it would, right?" Omar asked. "I think we solved the puzzle. We worked with the other group in the other room, and all the levers were pulled, stopping the flow to both rooms."

"That's the working theory, yeah."

"Why don't we –"

"We might, if we have to. But let's see if we can hear anything first. Maybe the other group figured something out, and if required we might be able to hear what they're doing."

Shane figured Omar's theory was sound – he had been thinking the same thing – but he wasn't about ready to put all his eggs in the noxious gas-spewing sarcophagus basket yet. If the other team was just as stuck as they were, perhaps they hadn't solved the puzzle yet. Perhaps they weren't worthy enough to cross through the barrier – wherever it may be – into Osiris's lair. Or, more likely, the stupid old temple just broke because no one used it in thousands of years.

Shane smirked, thinking about all the ways contraptions like this could go wrong. It didn't seem likely something had failed – a gear, the sliding mechanism, a lock. Hell, it was impressive the ropes still held after this long. They must have been dipped in wax, reinforced some way, then protected to keep the elements out. Had that been done with the rest of this place? So far, the doors that had opened and closed had done so flawlessly, their ancient rolling mechanisms still working fine. But had something crucial to the operation of this room failed somehow?

He didn't want to consider the ramifications of that possibility. If it were true, it meant they were definitely stuck here.

And they were definitely dead.

He waited another minute, Omar content by plopping down into the water, on his knees, only his head poking out. Shane had to admit the water temperature was nice, actually cool against the skin.

He waited an excruciatingly long time, finally giving in and deciding their best way forward was indeed to start working the lid. He motioned for Omar to follow him, and together they approached the sarcophagus once more. Again, he placed his hands 'neath the lid and started sliding it back.

It clicked two times, but Shane stopped when he heard a deeper clicking sound that seemed to be coming from the room they were in.

"Did you hear that?" he asked.

Omar did. He was looking around, trying to gather the source of the odd sound. Then he noticed something else.

"The water – it's going down."

"It's draining," Omar confirmed.

While the gas was still a problem, it was also still just above Shane's head. Unless he jumped straight up, it wouldn't do him any harm. But the water was draining, emptying through the same rut it had fallen in from. Whatever they had done – or perhaps the temple had simply operated like a timer – it had now opened the floodgates and let the water drain somewhere below.

Omar trudged through the now knee-deep water and reached the tiny, narrow hall they had come in from. He waited for the water to empty completely, then slid his body into the hole and disappeared momentarily. He popped back out a moment later, a smile on his face.

"It's unlocked!" he said. "The door – I can open the door easily."

"Finally, some good news," Shane said. "Did you see anyone else out there?"

Omar shook his head. "I couldn't hear them, either. My guess is they did the same thing we were doing, opening the sarcophagus lid more. Maybe that's the entrance to a deeper chamber."

Shane shuddered as he thought about it. "Yeah, more booby-traps waiting for us, too.”

"I don't think so," Omar said. "We solved the puzzle. The Egyptians didn't build places like this just to be a gauntlet. There was a test to enter, which we've now passed, so we should be able to proceed freely."

"Says you," Shane said.

Though they hadn't been scorched in the face with more gas when they opened the sarcophagus lid a bit, he still wasn't convinced there wasn't something sinister waiting for them inside.

"Your call, Omar," Shane said. "Which door? The one we came in from, or the big black scary hole that leads to somewhere we don't know about yet?"

Shane could see by the widening smile on Omar's face which he was about to choose, but the decision was suddenly made for them. Another noise reached their ears.

A voice.

It was coming from the tiny shaft, from the tiny crawlspace they had entered from, where Omar had just tested the now open door. And Shane knew in an instant whose voice it belonged to.

General Zari.

CHAPTER 79

CLIVE

Clive saw the opportunity in front of him, and he took it. He grabbed the pistol he wore and held it up, aiming it directly at Professor Swain's head. In the dim light of the underground pyramid, it was difficult to see, but Jack eventually noticed, his eyes widening.

Clive stepped forward, ensuring the pistol's tip was placed just at the base of Swain's neck.

"Things have changed, but one thing hasn't: this is my operation, and I am once again asserting my authority."

The younger man, Isaiah, took a slow step backward, toward Natia, still standing at the edge of the pyramid near the ladder they'd descended to come in.

His mercenary, the cult member who traveled with him all this time, got the hint. He swung his gun down and aimed it at the two against the wall.

"Clive," Jack began, his voice shaky. “Don't do this. Whatever you think –"

"I don't think! I know. And what I know is that there must be another way out. However, you are all collateral damage. We've made it this far thanks to your cunning intellect and knowledge of Egyptian history. But we've made it. We are no longer in need of such services."

In front of him, Jack squeezed his eyes shut. "You don't... you can't know that. It might be –"

"Shut up!" Clive snapped. He was feeling stressed, his left hand forming into a fist, his eyes squeezed closed. He forced them back open, forcing control. He tried slowing his heart rate by swallowing a couple of times, but he knew his body and mind were reacting to the predicament of being locked inside this place by General Zari. "I know that the builders would've built another exit, another way out."

"There is a way out," Natia said. "But Zari just closed it. Sealed it off. I tried moving the lid; it's sealed shut."

"There has to be another way!" Clive roared.

Jack shook his head, but Isaiah spoke next. "Clive – sir, if we work together, we might be able to –"

Clive flicked the end of the pistol to the right, fired it, and watched as the younger man fell backward. He hit the stone floor, nearly banging the back of his head against the sloping wall of the pyramid he stood in front of, then wailed in agony as blood began gushing from the bullet wound in his leg.

“No!” Jack shouted.

Natia's eyes flared, and she started forward, but the mercenary next to Clive tightened his grip on the assault rifle. She got the message, stopping in place.

Jack was sobbing now, his shoulders moving up and down in front of Clive. He pulled the pistol back into place behind his head.

“I don't need any you anymore," Clive reiterated. “So here's what we're going to do. I believe there's another way out, and I believe we're going to find it. You have the choice – you either all die now, or you help me look."

He considered adding, I'm not going to let you live either way, but decided against it. He didn't need to give them any more reason to fear for their lives and attempt a possible attack. Jack and Isaiah were academics, untrained and certainly not used to being held at gunpoint. But that meant they were even more unpredictable, and Clive didn't want to take the chance that they would try to rush him or that Jack would do something rash.

The woman, Natia, was just as unpredictable, because he still didn't know exactly who she was. She'd made it obvious she was some sort of hired gun, considering the state she'd left the two cultists in back at Jack's university, and the sheer fact that she was still standing. The more he thought about it, the more he realized he should've taken her out instead.

But she was also the most physically fit of the bunch. If they needed to move someplace inside this pyramid that was hard to access, or if they found an exit they had to climb to get to, she might still be useful. He made a mental note to keep an eye on her.

"What's it going to be?" he asked. "Will you help me look, or will you join your friend over there? I figure he'll bleed out in about 15 minutes."

Clive had no idea how fast it would take. He didn't know where he had hit the kid, if he'd gotten an artery or if it was simply a small graze and the kid was insufferably bad at taking a hit. Even now he whined and cried in the corner, his hands bloody as they covered the hole in his leg.

Finally, Jack spoke. "We'll help. What choice do we have?"

“None,” Clive said. “But I knew we could come to an agreement."

Clive watched the woman make eye contact with Jack. He couldn't see Jack's face, but he thought he saw the woman give him a slight nod. It didn't matter – there was nothing they could plan, no weapons they could use against him and the mercenary cultist standing guard.

"Okay, we need to split up. You two each walk toward the corners of this place. I'll stand in the middle and watch, in case you decide to try something stupid. My man here will get the last corner we haven't explored yet. If you find anything at all, call it out, but stay there. It'll make it easier."

Easier to kill you when you’re separated, Clive thought.

Without another word, Natia walked to the right, and Jack took a few steps forward and then started to the left. He watched the professor cover the diagonal space from their spot near the bottom of the ladder. Clive watched the woman but headed toward the corner Jack was working toward.

With any luck, they'd find another exit and be done with this soon.

CHAPTER 80

SHANE

Shane placed a hand on Omar's chest. The younger man had started walking toward the tiny crawlspace exit, but Shane stopped him.

"Do you hear anyone else?" Shane asked.

Zari's voice, low and talking quickly in Arabic, bounced around the antechamber outside and into their chamber.

Omar shook his head. "He's talking on the radio, trying to get in contact with the other team outside."

Shane nodded. That was what he suspected.

"If he's alone, that means..."

"The others are still inside. Still here, somewhere."

"Do you think he locked them in that room?" Omar asked.

"No, we just found out the door to get out is unlocked, and Zari just did that. They’d be following after him if –" Shane cut himself off. If they're still alive.

"Maybe they kept going, further into the temple. Maybe they opened the lid of their sarcophagus and went inside?"

They were grasping at straws, and Shane had to face the possibility that the others – Jack, Nadia, and Isaiah – were dead. Perhaps Omar had been right all along, that Zari had a plan even he didn't understand. That he had a way to kill everyone in that room without firing a shot.

Well, Riley, he thought to himself, are you actually an optimist? Or just playing at one?

He shrugged, forcing the thoughts aside. "We need to get out there, to stop him. Whatever happened, he knows about it.”

"Wait a bit," Omar said. "It's going to take him a while to get back up that ascending passage, anyway. And we don't want him to hear us coming out of this space."

Shane nodded, but he was already on his hands and knees in front of the crawlspace exit. He lowered himself, slid into the tight space, and forced his body forward, inch by inch until he felt the passageway widen.

He slithered forward, stopping just in front of the now open door. Zari obviously hadn't noticed the second door in this room as he exited, but Shane waited there, watching and listening, just in case. Far-off light from around the corner and somewhere else in the scepter-shaped complex cast the space in an eerie glow. It was near pitch black still, and Shane waited for his eyes to adjust.

He thought he saw Zari shifting around the corner but figured it was his eyes playing tricks on him.

He waited another minute, hoping Zari wasn't simply waiting for him to pop out.

He let out a breath, then slid forward once more, emerging from the crawlspace and back out into the room where the devastated archway and pile of rubble still sat.

The hammer he examined before was still there, its counterpart still leaning against the pile.

Omar joined him, and together they walked out of this room, turned, and began moving toward the staircase.

They moved swiftly but silently. Shane was glad Omar had been trained as a soldier. He knew when to keep his mouth shut, to stay quiet. And he knew how to fight.

They were both going to need that skill set very soon, Shane feared.

They found General Zari a minute later, carefully climbing back up the gigantic stairs that formed the descending passageway. He seemed to be in decent shape for his age, but it was dark, the tiny flashlight from the man's phone his only illumination.

Shane began climbing as well, still unseen and unheard by Zari. He tried to time his movements to those of Zari's, so that any wrong foot placement wouldn't be heard over Zari's own movement and noise. Still, he needed to go quickly, to gain on the man if he wanted to intercept him before he reached the top.

Once Zari was back at the antechamber, his radio would work just fine, and then they’d be outnumbered, and certainly outgunned.

Zari's radio suddenly squawked to life, taking Shane by surprise. He held his breath, hoping Zari wouldn't turn around. Shane was two blocks beneath him, about 14 feet away. Still, it would be easy to spot him, and certainly easy to hit with the pistol Zari had on his hip.

Omar scrambled up next to him, whispering directly into Shane's ear as quietly as possible.

"His men are in the antechamber upstairs," Omar whispered, translating what he’d just heard.

Shane listened.

“They just told Zari we’re no longer there."

CHAPTER 81

SHANE

Shane acted on instinct. He rushed forward, lunging up the two stairs quicker than he thought possible. His movements were loud enough to alert Zari.

Shane reached the lip of the stairs just as Zari pressed the button to talk into his radio. He released it, however, upon hearing Shane's approach. He whirled around, a shocked look on his face, but Shane was faster. He used his elbow, raking it across the side of Zari's head, a hefty blow that caused the old general to stumble backward, dropping the radio.

He heard a short question in Arabic come from the radio, but Zari made no motion to reach for it. Shane followed the first blow with two punches to the man's stomach, surprised at how tight it still was. Clearly, this man had seen combat and kept his body in fine shape the years after. But that didn't mean he was a match for Shane, especially after the surprise attack.

Zari mumbled a few words, that sounded like the first Arabic curse words Shane had ever heard, but he continued.

He pressed him, pushing Zari backward against the narrow hallway wall. Zari held his hands up, trying to protect his face, even clenching a fist to prepare for a counterattack in case there was an opening.

Shane made sure there wasn't.

He continued punching and kneeing, finally standing back as Zari tried to breathe and landing a blow with the heel of his boot directly into the man's stomach.

Zari hunched forward, then fell flat on his face, clutching his stomach. Shane considered kicking him in the head but didn't want to accidentally kill the man. They might still need information, might still need him to call off his attack dogs outside.

Not that Shane had any idea how to convince him to do that.

Omar was there now, wide-eyed and panicked. "You can’t… this isn't –"

"I'm an optimist, remember? So let's focus on the good news. We've got Zari down, and we're not full of bullet holes yet. You think you can convince those CSF guys outside to stay back?"

Omar shook his head. “He was just telling them to expect resistance, that one of his men and a man who was guarding – you – were left there. They were just telling him that we were no longer in the antechamber.”

“And what did he say in response?"

"Nothing, yet."

Shane squinted. "Do you know any of the people upstairs? Are they part of your team or whatever?"

"They're probably CSF or army, but no. I haven't had any interactions with anyone outside my direct chain of command and squad."

"What about me? Did Zari describe me to them? Or you?”

Omar thought for a moment. "Not that I'm aware of."

"Then that’s our chance. Take his radio, let them know Zari's been injured. Tell them who you are, and your real name. Whoever’s in charge up there should at least know you by name. The attackers are deeper in the temple. Let them know the cult group is there, too," Shane continued. "Convince them you and Zari were working with the Australian and the two academics to find the cult group. That much is true… sort of."

Omar nodded, understanding Shane's goal. He crouched to get the walkie-talkie at the same time Shane crouched down and lifted Zari easily back to his feet with both hands.

"Pretty pathetic," Shane spat. "You've gotten soft in your old age."

Zari glared at him, his lip cracked and his eye already blackened from two of the blows Shane landed. Shane gripped the man's collar tightly, his knuckles bloodied and bruised as well, but he didn't let on that they screamed in pain.

"I should kill you right here," Shane said. “You wouldn’t even offer me the chance of conversation, if the tables were turned.”

"You think your game will work? You think you can still win?"

"That's the difference between me and you, Zari," Shane growled. "I'm not here to win. Not everything in life is a game, but since it seems to matter so much to you... I do think you're a loser."

Zari's face remained impassive, albeit swollen. He turned to the side and spat a gob of reddish saliva onto the floor. It seemed pitch black, considering the near darkness they were in.

"What do you want?" Zari asked.

"I just wanted to find some cool stuff, man," Shane said. "You're the one who went all scorched-earth. Trying to extract everything here for your own personal gain, and killing everyone on the way out.”

"So what do you want to do about it?" Zari asked. He stiffened in Shane's grip, but Shane was far stronger and much more on edge. There wasn't a single thing Zari could do that Shane wouldn't react to.

"I don't suppose you're interested in helping us stop your men upstairs? Call them off?"

This time, Zari spit directly in front of Shane, the blob nearly landing on Shane's boot.

Unimpressed, Shane continued. "The alternative is not going to work out well for you at all, Zari."

"I will never help you. You're an outsider. A terrorist. The men upstairs will know that. They'll –"

Shane reacted without hesitation. His hands still tightly gripped Zari, even helping hold the weakened injured man up. But he used all the force he could muster. He was standing on the precipice of the block, the gigantic stair he found Zari on. He was facing out over the descent, likely about 30 or 40 feet up in the air and about as much distance away from the bottom of the diagonal shaft.

He pushed with all his might, sending Zari hurtling backward and out into the open abyss. There was an excruciating few seconds before Shane heard a sickening crunch and simultaneous splat as Zari's body impacted the stone floor or one of the stairs down below. It was too dark for Shane to see exactly where he landed, but he was still in motion.

He lunged forward, landing on the next stair, then the next, finally finding Zari's broken and twisted body at the bottom. He hit the lower stair, then tumbled down two more, finally landing on the actual floor of the long shaft of the temple. It appeared in the dim light Zari had struck at first, and the results were morbid.

Zari's lifeless body lay in shadow, an arm broken halfway down, the opposite leg bent sickly backward.

"What did – what did you do?" Omar called down.

"What I had to do,” Shane said. "Get to work on that radio, Omar. Go upstairs if you need to – convince them you were working with Zari until the end."

"What are you going to do with his body? They're going to know it was you who killed him. They're going to know –"

"Do it, Omar," Shane snapped. "I've got plans for your boss. Don't worry about me."

Shane didn't wait for Omar's response. He reached down and grabbed the general's legs, holding them like the handles of a wheelbarrow. Only he faced the opposite direction, letting Zari's body get dragged behind. He pulled Zari's broken body around the corner, dropping him near the pile of rubble and stone in the antechamber leading to the two mirrored rooms.

He considered trying to shove Zari's body into the tiny hole that led deeper into the temple, into the room he'd been trapped in earlier, but thought against it. It would be too much work, too much exertion wasted, especially if the other CSF forces upstairs decided to follow Omar's lead and track them down here. They would inevitably see a trail of blood, one that would be hard to explain the longer it was.

No, this was good enough. Hopefully it would look like Zari had clung to life as long as possible, crawled back into the antechamber, trying to hide from the mercenary cultists who’d bashed his head in.

On to the next part of his plan.

He had almost written off the others as surely dead by now, though he had never planned to leave their bodies behind. As much work as it would take to extract them all from the room they'd been trapped in, he knew it was his duty to do just that. Professor Swain and Isaiah had next of kin somewhere, and he intended to find them.

Natia... well, that would prove to be a bit more difficult. He didn't know who she was, really, so there was no way to tell where her next of kin might be or even how he might start looking for them.

But he felt a duty, an obligation to each of them now. They hadn't deserved the fate they'd gotten, and he would see to it they would at least be put to rest properly.

That was, of course, if they were dead. Shane's mind had gone immediately to that because he was a man of action, wanting to know what to do in case of any possible outcome.

But he really was an optimist. He was clinging to the hope that they were still alive.

And with it, he was hoping – surprisingly – that Clive or one of his mercenaries was still alive, as well.

He needed at least one of them to sell this story he was crafting. He didn't need it to hold up for long — just long enough to convince the CSF guys upstairs not to turn him into Swiss cheese immediately on sight. Their leader was dead, so there would be an inevitable vacuum of authority, and Shane would use those moments of confusion to take advantage, to convince them he was simply helping Zari and Omar track down this cult group. They wouldn't have any reason to suspect otherwise, as that's exactly what he had been doing.

By the time they started an actual investigation here, he planned to be long gone.

He turned toward the small opening he found in the antechamber and immediately ducked down and started crawling through. He worked quickly, pushing himself through the tapering exit and into the smaller room inside. There was no trace of gas or water now, save for a few puddles that lay in the gutter running to the center of it.

He moved over to the sarcophagus and started pulling the lid open wider. It went as far as about halfway, but it was more than enough space to get inside. He was still working with the tiny flashlight, but it didn't take long to find a ladder-like indentation underneath the lid side of the sarcophagus. He wasn't a huge fan of heights, but once he swung himself down and onto the ladder, still gripping the lid tightly with one hand, the flashlight in his mouth, he began to feel more at ease.

Suddenly he heard a gunshot. Arguing, voices, muffled, and far away.

He tensed, then grabbed the flashlight out of his mouth and clicked it off. He let his eyes adjust, trying to make out the voices, but couldn't. Finally, his eyes allowed him to see that there was just a hint of light, dancing and flickering far down below.

They're down there, he realized. They're still alive.

Someone had been shot. It had been the retort of a pistol – Clive's? The mercenary he'd been with had been holding one of the subcompacts, so he knew it wasn't that. Natia, Isaiah, and Jack were unarmed.

He pulled himself down the ladder, stopping again about halfway to listen. He thought he heard footsteps approaching, then was sure of it a few seconds later. He held his breath, wanting more than anything to turn the flashlight back on and see who was down below.

But he didn't see any light getting brighter; whoever was approaching did not have a way to illuminate their progress. He heard the footsteps stop, then pick up again. He recognized them now, the unmistakable sound of sopping wet loafers over stone. It sounded like a businessman smacking around on a linoleum or tile floor, with the added effect of water slurping away inside.

It was Professor Jack Swain.

As he listened, he confirmed his suspicion, recognizing the gait of the tall academic. The pacing was right – farther apart than Clive's would have been, and slightly heavier than Natia's. For a moment he considered it could be Isaiah, but that didn't change his decision.

It was one of the good guys.

When Jack was directly beneath him at the bottom of the shaft that obviously opened up into a much larger space, Shane made his decision. He really hoped the professor would have the common sense to not shout out in surprise, but Shane had to take the chance.

"Jack," Shane whispered.

The footsteps stopped, and he thought he could hear the professor sucking in a breath.

"Jack, it's me, Shane."

"Shane?" Jack hissed, whispering through clenched teeth.

Shane let out a breath. Jack's voice was much softer than he expected, which was good. It shouldn’t alert Clive or the mercenary – wherever they were in the space – to Shane's presence.

"Clive's got us corralled, looking for another way out," Jack explained quickly. "Do you have a plan?"

Shane thought for a moment. "You know what? This time, I actually do."

CHAPTER 82

CLIVE

Clive's attention was pulled away from the center of the room toward the corner where Jack had disappeared.

"Clive, I found something."

The professor's voice was calm and collected, much different from when he had been held at gunpoint. No matter – Jack wasn't an idiot, he still understood his fate. He didn't need to have a gun pointed directly at him to understand that Clive held all the cards.

"What is it?" Clive huffed.

"I think… I think it's another ladder. A shaft, just like the one we came in from over there."

Clive frowned. It made sense, really. If there was another ladder, perhaps there was also another chamber above, like the one they'd been stuck in.

"But it's too dark. I can only feel it. It seems like the rung of a ladder, but I can't see anything. Bring a light."

Natia was holding the flashlight from Isaiah, who was still sobbing against the wall by the shaft they had descended through. He considered sending Natia over to Jack instead, but didn't want to upset the status quo. There was a chance they could both escape, leaving him and his mercenary to die down here.

He started moving, his feet gathering speed as his excitement grew. There is an exit, he thought. I was right.

He sensed Natia moving behind him, glanced over his shoulder quickly, and shone his flashlight in that direction. She paused then, like a cat caught in the flashlight like a thief caught on camera. But she wasn't moving toward him. She moved to the side, leaving the corner she'd been exploring and now about halfway across that section of wall toward the corner he sent his mercenary to.

He turned back around and approached Jack's position. Jack stepped out of the way, allowing Clive access to examine the ladder for himself.

Sure enough, it seemed the rungs were the same, carved into the stone itself, this section of underground pyramid like an elevator shaft cut into the far corner of the underground pyramid. He stepped close to the ladder, using the flashlight to slowly creep upward. He kept moving his hand up, illuminating each rung, savoring the moment as he finally realized he was not, in fact, going to die down here.

Until something moved above him. He flicked the light upward, now shooting it straight up at the half-open sarcophagus high above.

But the movement had come from halfway down the ladder. A shape, large and dark.

It was getting bigger, much faster than he thought possible. His eyes widened as he realized what was happening.

Clive screamed, just as the heavy sole of a boot struck him directly in the face. He felt his nose shatter, blood spraying in every direction, but the damage wasn't done. The boot pile-drove through him, smashing him into the stone floor, another one landing on his shoulder and crushing it, destroying the ball and socket joint and cartilage there holding it all together. He wailed in agony as the boots kept coming, the body above them far heavier than anything he could've imagined, like getting tackled from directly above by a refrigerator wearing combat boots.

Clive was on the ground now, the boots crushing and grinding every bone in his body, his lungs gasping for air but finding only punctures that should not be there, one of them likely collapsed completely.

There was blood all over his face, dripping into his mouth, but also coming from it. He couldn't breathe. He choked, coughed, trying to turn his head to the side but finding his neck unable to move.

And then the pressure was gone, the boots simply jumping lightly away and landing with a bloody splat onto the ground next to him.

Clive couldn't even open his eyes fully to see what it was that had attacked him, but he knew.

He heard another shout, a man – the cult member whose name he had never bothered to learn. He willed him to take action and was relieved to hear a quick burst of fire from the small submachine gun he held.

But just as quickly as it erupted, it ended. Another sickening splat sounded and he heard a groan, a cry in Arabic.

Then he heard the unmistakable sound of a body falling, slapping hard against the stone.

"Shane?" a woman's voice called out.

"Yeah, it’s me. You guys all right?"

Clive listened, his heart beating only to pump blood out of his body and onto the floor around him. He couldn't move, couldn't even bend a finger. He lay just on the verge of consciousness, listening as the party around him regrouped.

He heard Jack chuckle. "That was quite an entrance," he said.

“Couldn't let you all have all the fun," Shane Riley's voice returned.

“Jack, Shane. We don't have much time." Natia's voice was steady but quickly paced. "He shot Isaiah. I think he'll be okay, but he's bleeding out. We need to get the wound wrapped."

He heard footsteps, running, all three of them heading toward the man Clive had shot. He wished he had his gun now, though he wasn't sure he'd be able to use it.

The agony was too much to bear. He wasn't sure if he would use the weapon against the professor, Shane Riley, or the others, or just turn it to his own temple and end the suffering.

But he couldn't. He sensed the gun on his hip, thought he could feel it pressing into his side, only adding more pain to his already excruciating state.

Finally, the relief of quiet and numbness fell over him as he began to pass out. He wouldn't die, not yet, but his mind had decided his body had suffered enough. It was shutting down, letting him float into a peaceful sleep.

He willed it to come quicker, finally reaching that euphoric state a moment later.

CHAPTER 83

JACK

Jack finally let himself breathe. His heart was still racing, but the danger of being trapped inside this pyramid, or being shot by Zari or Clive or his men, was over.

Natia had ripped off a piece of the mercenary's clothing—after having killed him with her bare hands, the man likely didn't need his shirt anymore—and tied up Isaiah's leg enough to slow the bleeding. A quick examination by Shane found that the gunshot wound wasn't deep. It had gone through the fleshy side of his leg, and while it would hurt for some time, he hadn't lost nearly enough blood for it to be a life-threatening injury.

Now, Shane, Jack, and Natia stood near the pile of treasure at the base of Osiris's tomb. With no imminent threats against his life, Jack could finally feel the true wonder and marvel at the very existence of this place.

"It's something else, that's for sure," Shane said. His nonchalant tone wasn't enough to hide the amazement Jack could hear underneath.

The man might be a brute, but Shane Riley wasn't completely dense.

He squeezed the taller man's shoulder. "I owe you an apology, and a thank you."

Shane turned, looking down at Jack, then spoke. "I suppose I owe you the same.” Then, with a smirk, he added: “And to think, a few hours ago we were just two smitten lads, fighting over a girl."

Natia turned and stared at Shane, an eyebrow raised. “And who is this girl in question?" she asked. "Surely not me."

Jack smiled, enjoying watching Shane bounce from foot to foot as he came up with a good answer.

"You never had a chance," Shane finally muttered under his breath.

“Neither of you ever had a chance,” Natia said.

Jack laughed and stepped closer to the pile of treasure. Using a flashlight picked up next to Clive, he surveyed everything here. Its value was priceless; any museum in the world would pay top dollar for it. He knew the Egyptian government would pay much more than that to keep it here.

"What are we going to do with all of it?" Natia asked, picking up a small gold ornament of some sort and examining it.

"I suppose we don't have a choice," Shane said. "Even though Zari's dead, there are plenty of others at the Ministry of Antiquities who are trustworthy, not out for political gain but because they truly do want what's best for Egypt. And this is very much an Egyptian treasure. Always has been, always will be."

"So we get back outside, figure out a way to get back to Cairo, then see about getting a meeting with the Ministry?" Natia asked.

"Not in person," Shane said. "We don't want to get cross-examined at the same time. I said there are people still trustworthy in the organization, not that I know any of them. For all we know, Zari's protégé is somewhere in Cairo, pushing papers just looking for the right moment to take over. Someone like that would just throw us in prison and ask questions on their time."

He decided not to add that General Zari was dead upstairs.

Natia crept forward, toward Osiris's sarcophagus. Seeing it close-up, Jack saw that it was an exact match to the ones upstairs. Symbolism, always.

As above, so below.

"Help me with this," she said.

Jack's eyes widened. "Are you serious? After all this—you want to look inside?"

"After all this, you don't?" she responded with a sly grin on her face.

Jack didn't have time to make the decision. Natia made it for him, stepping up to the side of the sarcophagus and placing her hands under the lid.

"Here's hoping we don't get scorched in the face with more melting gas," Shane said.

"I think the booby-traps are over," Jack said. "We found the treasure. Which means we found⁠—"

He was cut off by the sound of the sarcophagus lid grinding open, though this time there was no mechanical clicking sound to go with it. He let out a sigh of relief when he saw that there was also no gas, no water seeping into the pyramid's base.

"But it's... empty."

Jack frowned, glancing over at Isaiah, who hadn't moved, then starting toward the sarcophagus as well. They would need to figure out a way to lift the younger man out of here, but he wouldn't be surprised if Shane was capable of just tossing the lighter guy over his shoulder and climbing the ladder.

"You sure? There's no way. This has to be it. The actual Tomb of⁠—"

But as he got closer, he saw they were right. The lid, now fully removed and delicately set diagonally against the front of the sarcophagus box by Natia and Shane, was revealed the truth.

There was nothing inside.

"It can't be," Jack stammered. "We were so close, we⁠—"

"We still found a lot of treasure," Shane said. "No small feat, I suspect. Think about it, Jack,” he continued. "The books will almost write themselves. The papers you publish about all of this. I don't know how it works, but if you didn't have tenure yet, I'm sure you will now."

“No, that's not how it…“ Jack cut himself off, shaking his head. "The point is, it doesn't make any sense. This is the Tomb of Osiris. Other people—pharaohs probably—thought so as well. That's why there's treasure here. Hell, we're even inside a subterranean pyramid. The first—and likely only—of its kind. So where is Osiris?"

Shane shrugged, and Jack just stared down at the empty tomb.

Jack wished Isaiah was here to offer his opinion. He intended to walk over and ask, but knew the kid was resting and didn't want to disturb him. But it didn't matter—knowledge alone wasn't going to bring back the lost body of Osiris.

Someone had been here after he'd been laid to rest. Stolen the body, but why? Why go through all that trouble, not even leave a trace and leave behind all the treasure sitting at Osiris's altar?

Jack shook his head, not believing it.

No, he was missing something. He didn't know what it was, but he intended to figure it out.

Natia seemed distraught.

“You okay?" Shane asked her, apparently noticing it as well.

She didn't offer a response, simply staring down at the empty space inside the sarcophagus.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," Shane continued. "Natia, you still with us?"

Suddenly she jumped into action, pouncing away from the sarcophagus and into the pile of treasure. Her boots kicked up a mess of gold objects, scattering in every direction.

"Hey!" Jack protested, but the noise of her motion made it so no one could hear him.

She moved through the pile, as if looking for something specific. Finally, she stood up, holding a prize in her hand.

It’s… But he was drawing a blank. Jack had no idea what she was holding.

"What is it?" Shane asked, looking just as confused as Jack felt.

"Consolation prize," Natia said coldly.

“A consolation… what?"

CHAPTER 84

SHANE

"Natia, what is this about?"

Shane stood near the mangled body of Clive, who was gently wheezing and sputtering blood. The dead cultist mercenary lay in the darkness beyond, and Jack and Isaiah joined Shane by the ladder.

Natia held the gold artifact in her hand, examining it closely. "Don't be naïve," she said. "You know what this is about."

Shane squinted at her. "Money? Treasure? Is that really what you're implying?"

She looked up at him and smiled. "I'm not implying anything, Mr. Riley. I'm saying that's exactly what this is. As I said, don't be naïve. Money makes the world go round. You know what this place is worth? What just this piece of it is worth?"

She held it up, letting the light of two flashlights glint off its surface. Shane could see it was roundish at the base, with what seemed to be a head and tail poking out from either side of the top. Still, he had no idea what it was supposed to be, but he knew an item of value when he saw one. It was clearly some sort of Egyptian artifact, carved from gold and polished to shine. And it looked heavy—though Natia tossed it from hand to hand with dexterity, he could see its weight in the straining of her wrists as she did.

"So… that's it, then?" Shane asked. "You betrayed us? All in the name of getting your hands on a piece of gold?"

She scoffed. "This is solid gold, Mr. Riley. And yes, it is that simple. No, I didn't betray you—I told you I was interested in finding this cult group and what they were after. All of that's true, and we did."

"This is a prize you can't take," Jack said, his voice quavering.

"Is it not?" Natia said coolly, cocking her head to the side. "This piece alone will fund my operations for three years. Potentially more, if my dealer can get a good price. And since I know where to find more of it…"

Shane considered letting her know about Zari's second CSF group upstairs, hopefully persuaded by Omar to wait until they emerged. Instead, he waited for the interaction to continue.

"You can't be serious," Isaiah said. "This place isn't… people know about it."

"Seems to me the only people who know about it are standing right here. Clive's not long for this world, his mercenary cult members are dead, and Zari is in the wind. No matter—I don't even need to hunt him down. He said it himself—he can simply wait us out. Give it three or four weeks and then return to find our dead bodies. But, since I'm not dead, I don't think I'll wait nearly that long to come back."

Shane knew she was right. She could simply sneak in before Zari planned to return. Of course, she did not know that Zari was dead, his body just upstairs outside the room through which they'd entered this subterranean pyramid.

But Shane once again felt compelled to keep this little tidbit to himself. It wasn’t much of a plan, but it might prove to factor in. He needed some way to prevent her from doing exactly what Zari had threatened before.

He looked at Natia, waited for her eyes to land on his. With as serious a voice as he could muster, he spoke. "Natia, I know what you're trying to do. I don't disapprove—technically, this is my job as well. I'm a retrieval expert. But I also understand the status quo, what you have to do."

She waited, eyes boring through him.

"You can't leave any of us alive, right?" She was about to respond, but Shane cut her off. "I have another idea. A way out of this."

“I’ve already thought of a way out," she snapped.

"We're all innocent here, Natia," Shane continued. "The professor, Isaiah—they're just collateral damage." He shook his head. "It doesn't need to end like this, not for them."

"But they'll talk⁠—"

"Talk? Tell people about this place? So what if they do? You don’t think Zari came all the way out here without at least letting one person back in Cairo know his whereabouts? He also said he had teams of people on the way, people who might be upstairs right now, waiting for him. Hell, maybe he's already out there, talking to them and planning his next move."

"I can handle General Zari just fine," Natia said.

"I don't doubt it," Shane said. "But my point is—even if Isaiah and Jack talk about this place, even if Professor Swain writes about it in his book, it won't change anything for you. You've already got your treasure, and like you said, you can come back for more."

"What are you saying, then?"

Shane stepped to the side, walking around Natia slowly, to ensure he had her full attention. He walked toward the pile of artifacts and treasures sitting against the wall. He scanned the artifacts, sensing everyone's eyes on him. He reached down, grabbing the first thing that would fit in his hand.

A chalice, filled with gemstones that seemed to have writing etched on each one, like a cup full of ancient Egyptian checkers pieces. He held it up. "I'm taking this," he said.

Natia frowned, but Jack and Isaiah's eyes widened. "You can't—that's not—" Isaiah stammered.

Shane shook his head. "Stop. Natia's right. There's enough treasure in here to pay our salaries three times over. Mine, well, maybe twice that. I live a bit more… lean."

"What's your point?" Natia asked.

"My point is, you have another option, Natia. You think you have to kill us, or lock us in here like Zari did, because otherwise we'll talk. We'll out you, let the world know you stole something of great value from this place. As absurd as that truly is, you think it's your only move."

"It's not absurd," she said.

"It is. Who are we going to tell? No one knows who the hell you are, Natia. You're a ghost, not even on international databases. The professor could give an entire lecture about the woman who stole treasure from the foot of Osiris, and no one would be able to trace any of it back to you."

He saw her eyes flick side to side, and he knew he was getting his point across.

"But there's more," Shane said. "A different path."

She waited.

“You can only carry so much out, right now. But if we all take something from this place, then all of us are complicit."

He could see the horror on Jack's face, and the rising concern on Isaiah's as he began to understand Shane's plan.

He continued before either of the men could protest. "No, listen, guys. We don't know what's going to happen after we leave here. If we're even able to get out alive. We don't know where Zari's men are, what he's planning. Best case, we get out of here with our lives and whatever we've got in our hands, and we can't make it back in, and Natia can't make it back in to steal more stuff."

He had her attention now.

"So if we all carry stuff out, we are all in this together. Natia, you won't kill us if we're helping you, right? This chalice, full of whatever… this stuff is? It's yours. I'll carry it out for you, and hand it over when we're outside."

"How do I know I can trust you?" she asked.

Shane smiled. "Who says you have to trust us? You can just beat us senseless and take the extra stuff we helped carry out for you. Either way, the treasure will be yours. But then why would we tell anyone? Why would we admit to nabbing these lost artifacts, taking some out ourselves? Our hands will be just as dirty as yours.”

He could see she was mulling it over.

He reached down and grabbed another artifact, this one looking like a smoothed, stone brick carved out of ivory. He tossed it to Jack, who caught it easily. He found another object, a smaller chalice, and tossed it to Isaiah. Both men began examining the artifacts in their hands.

"How much is all this worth? Probably at least four times what you're holding in your hands, right?" he asked. "You can't carry it all yourself anyway, and you might not be able to come back down for more later. So let us help you get out of here, and we'll help you escape. We go our separate ways once we're above, and you never hear from any of us again."

He was talking faster, hoping his point would land.

If she really were here for the treasure, he was basically offering her four times as much to be over and done with it all, to be able to walk away from this place and cash out, big time. There was no way to get all of the treasure out now—as none of them had a satchel or sack or backpack of any sort. And he meant what he said about her not being able to return later. Though she didn’t know Zari's Central Security Forces were waiting upstairs with Omar, she knew he was coming. Reentering the pyramid now was a huge risk.

Zari had told both of them he’d planned to come back. Would he leave scouts to watch the place in the meantime? Would he station an entire battalion in the nearby city, patrolling the entire grounds here to ensure nobody entered or exited?

There were too many variables at play for Natia, who hadn't seen Shane kill Zari and send Omar upstairs.

He held his breath while she considered.

Finally, she spoke. "Okay, Shane. You have a deal."

CHAPTER 85

JACK

Jack considered his options. There weren't many, really. Essentially, it all came down to whether or not he wanted to be complicit in stealing some of the most priceless artifacts the world had ever seen…

…Or dying.

He doubted Natia would kill them in cold blood, but instead opt to do what Zari had done and leave them all here to die. Still, that seemed improbable, but he had to admit he already knew Natia to be a fine actress.

Had she been playing them all along? Had her little flirtatious interludes been just that? Was she trying to get him on her side for this very reason? Perhaps she wanted to lure them down here all along, using his wisdom and knowledge of Osiris's history and Egyptian mythology to find this place and the treasures within.

He didn't want to try, but Riley's approach carried risks as well. He had no interest in becoming a thief, an accomplice to a heist. Shane was right: it would certainly keep him silent. If he joined in, he would carry this secret to his grave, as no academic – archaeologist or otherwise – no honorable man, really, would take part in something like that.

But this was different, right? He wasn’t just stealing artifacts for fun and profit. This was life or death, literally.

Could he justify it then?

Shane was also right that should he decide to talk afterward, to throw Natia under the bus, he wouldn't even know the first place to look to find such a bus. He had no ins with the communities and circles Natia likely ran in.

How would he even begin to start discrediting her, start ruining her reputation? He assumed searching ‘forums wherecontract killers for hire hang out’ wouldn’t be a fruitful endeavor.

He racked his brain, not finding a better option than these two.

He caught the small brick-like piece of ivory Shane tossed at him, still in such awe at Natia's betrayal and subsequent plan to leave them here for dead, that he couldn't focus on the item in question. But he didn't need to – everything in this rooom, even the space itself, was of immense value. Any Egyptologist or historian anywhere in the world would be in a veritable heaven. The artifacts and valuable objects they found here were really just icing on the cake. Every piece, from the giant empty tomb itself down to the smallest pendant, would have a place in any respectable museum in the world.

As Shane laid out his plan to Natia, Isaiah's eyes darting from Jack to Shane to Natia and back again, Jack had an epiphany.

The tomb…

It was empty, perhaps the most ironic twist of fate he had experienced so far. The lesson about the tomb being empty was about what it might mean for Jack.

A third option.

He wasn't sure who he should trust, Shane or Natia. But so far, only Shane had proven to be exactly who he said he was – a relatively normal ex-soldier who considered himself a retrieval expert, whatever the hell that meant. Jack supposed it meant he was no better than Natia in regards to taking what he wanted from a place like this and selling it on the black market, save for the part about him killing everyone and leaving him behind.

If that was the differentiating factor between Natia and Shane Riley, Jack figured the better option was to go with Mr. Riley.

He really didn't want to die.

And while he still doubted Natia's desire to kill them all in cold blood or leave them for dead, she had already proven her ability and knack for subterfuge. Perhaps Shane was right, that she would in fact kill them all.

And while he hated the idea of stealing artifacts from this place almost as much as dying, that was certainly the better option. He was beginning to warm to Shane's plan when the thought of the still open, empty sarcophagus came back to the forefront of his mind.

The third option that started to form in his mind now solidified.

He needed to think through the possibilities, mull it over. There were different deadly variables he didn't know – where Zari was and if he had in fact sent men back to ensure no one left this place.

But perhaps he could still use that to his advantage.

He sensed Shane's eyes on him as he rolled the brick through his fingers. Finally, he looked up, catching the larger man's eyes, now clearly waiting for an answer from him.

Natia had agreed already, confirming that killing them all was not nearly as beneficial to her as making them complicit in her thievery.

He spoke, his voice calm and confident. “I’m in. Let’s steal some artifacts.”

CHAPTER 86

SHANE

"Time to move, Mr. Riley," Natia said. All sense of the woman's flirtatious demeanor disappeared, replaced by a stone-cold exterior.

Shane knew he had truly been played. Not just because of her betrayal, but because she had so effortlessly pitted Jack and Shane against each other, as if forcing them to compete with one another for dominance as the alpha male in her circle.

It was gross, but Shane had to admit she was every bit the professional she said she was. Quite the actress, as well.

Each of the four slipped whatever object they were holding into their pockets, and Natia was urging them all toward the ladder Shane had come down. Clive was still there, barely clinging to life. No one offered any help.

"Who are you working for?" Shane asked suddenly.

Natia didn't answer. Instead, she tightened her grip on the submachine gun she had taken from the mercenary cultist she killed.

"You’ve got a buyer already?" Jack added. "Someone to take all of this... stuff off your hands?"

She nodded once, but motioned with the gun for them all to continue moving.

Shane sidestepped Clive's prone, near-lifeless body, bloodied and beaten to a pulp. He started up the ladder, finding it slow going as his body finally registered all the aches and pains and damage it had endured in the past 48 hours.

"I don't believe that's your business," she said.

"Actually, it's all of our business," Isaiah said.

Shane stopped, turning to look at the younger man. He had taken all three of them by surprise, Jack's mouth even open wide in shock. Apparently, the kid had found a bit of courage during their time here in Egypt.

Natia looked like she was going to raise the rifle and simply end the kid's life, but then relaxed a bit. She let out a sigh. "Okay, fine. You're right. I guess I owe you at least that."

Shane waited, still gripping the third rung of the stone ladder carved into the wall of the shaft.

"Actually," she began, "maybe you should ask him."

She pointed her rifle down toward Clive, who only sputtered an unintelligible reply.

"Is he the buyer?"

"Not him," she said. "His sister."

Shane nearly spat. Her betrayal was total, and in that instant, he knew how thoroughly they all had been played. "Did he know?"

“No,” she said. “Even if he knew she had a buyer, he certainly didn't know his sister had sent me here to ensure he succeeded. And to be clear, I was not working with him — that’s why I took it upon myself to take out some of his cult followers already; it will only make my escape easier.”

“He suspected nothing?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if he considered me a threat, someone who might interfere with his and his sister’s plans. Probably would have killed me first, if it came to it."

Shane wasn't sure he was happy it hadn't come to that – he didn't want to kill Natia, but he certainly didn't like the thought of being handled by this woman so effortlessly, without any of them knowing what she was really doing.

"She needed an insurance policy," Natia continued. "Wanted to make sure Clive returned with something valuable. Apparently, the man was... reckless. Rough around the edges. She trusted him, but treated him like a petulant child.”

"Can't argue with that," Shane said.

"So she contacted you?" Jack asked.

Natia nodded again. "She did. About a month ago. I'd never heard of their little cult operation – not surprising, considering how small and fractured it was when they took it over, and how resourceful she was at keeping her real intentions under wraps. Anyway, she told me she was going to send her brother to Egypt but wanted to make sure his efforts weren't in vain."

"So you're just going to… hand over this stuff to her?"

“In a sense. And for the appropriate finder's fee, yes," Natia said. "There's a dealer I've used before who specializes in antiquities like these. He'll be able to get the best price on any market, and I'll keep 25%."

"Isn’t she worried you'll play her too?" Isaiah asked, his confidence not waning. "Betray her the way you betrayed us?"

She smiled at the young man. "I'm a professional, Isaiah. My reputation is the only thing that’s kept me alive so far. So no, I won't be betraying anyone else today. And again, except for the brief moment you thought I might leave you here to die, I still haven't betrayed anyone. We came here to find Osiris's tomb, and we found it. Sure, we're all going to be complicit in a bit of theft, and I'll be a few million dollars richer because of it. Mr. Riley here was able to convince me of a better way forward. The way in which you all get to live."

"But you were going to kill us," he spat.

“I was going to leave you,” she said. “Whatever happened after that was not my concern. Life is about risk, Isaiah.” She spoke with a detached calm, as if her words were enough to explain away her actions. "And no risk comes without consequence. That’s why it's a risk. You didn't have to come here, and you know that."

"If I didn't, they would have–"

"Killed you? Sure, maybe. But you made your choice, nevertheless. So I would suggest owning it and moving on. As I said, I didn't want to kill you all. I just wasn't about to let this operation be a waste. I've never taken on a job I couldn't complete. This one got a little hairy, but here we are."

She was about to continue when Shane heard a noise from above his head. He looked up, seeing tiny auras of light drifting across the opening in the shaft above his head.

The lights solidified into one, their angles becoming sharper and more in focus as those holding them got closer to the shaft.

A moment later, two pinpricks of light pointed straight down at him, and he covered his eyes.

"Mr. Riley?" He heard a voice call down.

He smiled, then looked back down at Natia. "Looks like we've got company."

CHAPTER 87

SHANE

Shane jumped back down, his boots landing in a puddle of Clive's blood. It seemed the man was finally dead, but he wasn't about to bend down and check. He turned to face Natia, her eyes wide, her hands still gripping the submachine gun.

"Plans have changed," Shane said, once again letting his Australian accent and drawl shine. "And I wouldn't think about using that unless you have a death wish."

She hesitated for another moment, her eyes flitting back and forth from Shane to Jack and Isaiah, then up to the man who had called down to him and then back again.

Shane tried to predict her next move. She couldn't exactly run away – he guessed even the other shaft would be guarded by more of the CSF soldiers that just appeared. She wouldn't just start shooting – what good would that do? Even shooting through Shane, she'd still have to climb the ladder without being shot at, exit from the top of the shaft through the sarcophagus, and then kill whatever CSF soldiers were lying in wait.

No, fighting it out was not going to be an option for her. He wasn't sure if she had made that connection already, figured out why the man above seemed to know exactly who Shane Riley was, or not. But she soon would, and would probably figure out that Shane had done something with Zari and convinced his men to his side.

But she had always been an enigma, unpredictable in a calculating way. So it was with great interest and satisfaction that he watched her hem and haw, literally dancing from one foot to the other while trying to figure out what to do with her hands that still held the weapon, while Omar and three CSF soldiers descended the ladder.

"What is this?" she asked quickly.

Shane smiled and shrugged. "I made some friends. Sorry – did I forget to mention that?"

"Mr. Riley, are you okay?" Omar shouted, as if punctuating Shane's words with an overtly friendly question.

"All good down here, Omar. I could certainly use some backup, though."

Omar didn’t respond, but he began descending the ladder into the pyramid. He was followed by four CSF men.

When Omar and the others were on the ground, one of the CSF men stepped forward, directly in front of Natia. His English was intelligible, though not as clear as Omar's. "Who are you?" he asked.

She didn't answer.

"You are the assassin, no?"

Shane tilted his head toward Omar. He hadn't told the younger man exactly who Natia was – and at the time, he had no reason to suspect she might betray them – but it seemed Omar had been a little extra cautious. Plus, Omar seemed to be acting like he were in charge now. His confidence was boosted, and he carried himself with an authority he hadn’t had before.

When he was working for General Zari.

That’s it, Shane thought. Not only had he been able to convince the CSF soldiers that our story was true, he’s probably in charge now.

Omar noticed the gold object Natia still held hooked underneath her arm, then turned and saw the bulges from each of the men's pockets. He looked up at Shane, questioning.

Shane nodded his head, then spoke. "Omar, thanks for coming. Natia here tried to shift the status quo in her favor. She forced us all – at gunpoint, as you can see – to steal from Osiris. It was the only way she'd let us leave alive."

"That's not… what are you –" Natia began, but three weapons suddenly pointed directly toward her. Omar walked back and forth between the men he was with. Shane wasn't sure if he actually outranked them or if he’d just leveraged the situation, but it did appear he had some authority here.

He looked to Isaiah and Jack. "Is this true?"

"Every word," Jack growled.

"But she was going to let us live, that's a fact," Shane said, keeping his eyes leveled at Natia. "If I may, I suggest you take her into custody. She's got information you’ll need about the cult your boss has been chasing around the country."

Neither of the four CSF men moved, and Omar walked over to Shane again.

"Seems she was working with this guy's sister, the head of the operation." Shane toed the dead body of Clive with his boot. "She's got a buyer and everything. I suspect if you lean on her a bit, she might give you some hints as to where you can find the sister, and possibly even her middleman.”

Omar barked something in Arabic, and two of the men rushed forward and pulled the weapon out of Natia's hands. She didn't fight, didn't try to wrest control back; she simply allowed them to pull her arms in front of her, where they cuffed them in place.

"Natia, hope you can climb with those cuffs on," Shane said. "But you did get a little practice wearing them upstairs. Can't wait to see how you fare."

"I will find you, Shane Riley," she said calmly.

Shane shrugged again. “Eh, come off it, Natia. You betrayed us; I betrayed you. I wouldn't have had to do it, either, without your shenanigans beforehand. And it seems like they're not just going to shoot you on sight. Omar's got a heart, you see? Unlike General Zari, who I took care of for you." He spat next to Clive's body. "You're welcome, by the way."

The two soldiers pulled Natia roughly forward, forcing her to start up the ladder. Shane couldn't help but admire the view as she ascended directly above his head.

It's a shame we couldn't get to know each other a little better, he thought.

But even before he could finish the thought, Michaela's face came into view in his mind. She was smiling, the mischievous grin he knew so well.

Is this what she wanted? While Shane hadn't exactly considered a real relationship with Natia – a woman like that was not the kind of person he would ever consider being with – he felt something over the last day or so. Something drew him toward her, for whatever reason.

Professor Swain had basically implied as much, as well. Was this the effect she had on men?

And was this what Shane had fallen for? She’d barely spoken to either of them. Was that her plan all along?

And surely Michaela wouldn’t want that. Surely her last words to him weren’t really meant to subtly imply that she wanted Shane to fall in love with random woman, especially not one like Natia.

He pushed the thought aside, curious as to why Michaela seemed to live rent-free in his brain and not his late wife. He remembered what she’d told him the last time they’d spoken.

When you're done with whatever it is you need to do, can you promise me you'll find me? Promise me that no matter where I am in the world, you'll find me when you're ready.

Was he ready?

Or was he truly moving on from her? Was he moving on from Kate?

"Shane, you still with us?" He felt Jack shaking his shoulder, pulling him back to life.

Shane nodded quickly. "Sorry about that," he said, clearing his throat. "It's just… it's been a lot."

"We're not done yet," Jack said, winking at him.

Shane stared at the man. "What are you getting at?"

He turned back to Omar and the CSF soldiers waiting for Natia to ascend, where there were likely more men just like them at the top awaiting her arrival.

"Jack says there's one more secret this place is hiding,” Omar said.

Jack was nodding excitedly. "It was something Clive said, on the way down."

"Something about the summer solstice?" Isaiah asked.

"Yes! He said this was the only time we'd be able to find it. The only time it would be revealed."

"The only time what would be revealed?"

Jack paused, his animated tone turning down to nearly a whisper.

"The real final resting place of Osiris."

CHAPTER 88

JACK

"So it is real?" Omar asked. "Osiris is actually… here?"

Jack watched as the thin CSF man walked toward the open sarcophagus.

"Not there," Jack said. All eyes turned to face him. "It's empty. But it was one last secret the ancient Egyptians were trying to hide."

"So where is it then?" Omar asked, looking around the large pyramidal chamber. "There's nothing here besides treasure and an empty tomb."

Jack nodded. "The summer solstice. That happened today, technically today and tomorrow. We're right in the middle of it now, which means Clive was right about one thing: right now is the best time we have to be here. He said it was when the location of Osiris would be revealed."

Omar waited, and Jack could tell Shane Riley and Isaiah were also curious. Natia looked nonchalant, but he knew she was scheming, trying to figure out a way out of the cuffs and away from the military men surrounding her.

"Tell us quickly," Omar said. "The sooner we can verify your claims, the sooner we'll be able to properly protect this place."

"I have a few conditions first," Jack said.

Shane looked stunned, but Isaiah was silent as Jack pressed on. "I'll tell you how to find the tomb. Hell, we could do it right now if you want."

"Conditions?" Omar asked. "I don't believe you're in a position to negotiate, sir."

Shane eyed Omar suspiciously, but Jack continued. "Who are you to them?" he asked. "You’ve got authority here, right?"

It was a guess – a gamble – but one Jack was pretty sure would win.

Omar hesitated, but finally answered after letting out a sigh. "Yes, you are correct. We're all Central Security Force men, but I've been working directly for General Zari in the Ministry of Antiquities. He's… no longer with us, so his authority falls to me, at least for the time being."

"Then for the time being, you can honor my conditions. Or is there another problem here I'm not aware of?"

Omar looked to Shane, who offered a simple nod. Whatever had happened upstairs, it was going to remain between Shane and Omar. But Jack didn't have to guess to know Shane had done something to General Zari, and the man was now dead. He wasn't exactly upset about that fact, but wondered how it had changed the status quo.

He hoped Omar was being truthful about his authority – if he could actually honor their conditions. The last thing he wanted was for the other CSF men to take control, to throw all of them in prison while Omar and the rest of the Ministry of Antiquities decided what to do with them.

It would only take a quick search of their pockets to realize they were all planning to steal from the Egyptian state.

"First, I need you to look the other way."

Omar frowned.

"Figuratively, of course," Jack said. "Natia wanted us to steal things for her." He pulled out the item Shane had thrown toward him, holding it up for all the others to see. "This. I'm not sure what it is, but it obviously has immense value. It was placed at the base of Osiris's sarcophagus there."

There was an angry look on Omar's face, a darkness that had fallen over it.

Shane too looked upset. Had he really been hoping to get away with their thievery and deception?

"I assure you, I have no interest in stealing from this place. From you. As far as I can tell, this place is sacred not just to the Egyptian people but to the world. But it belongs to the Egyptian people. Not the rest of the world. If I had it my way, this place would be turned into a museum, or at least protected as such."

Omar waited for him to finish, then urged him on. "Okay, I'm listening."

Jack nudged Isaiah, who pulled out the object from his pocket. Jack grabbed both and placed them on the floor once more. He turned to Shane, who begrudgingly pulled out the object he'd stuffed in his pocket as well. "Hope you know what you're doing, Professor,” Shane said.

Jack just offered Shane a kind smile.

Turning back to Omar, he continued. "Second, this woman does need to be locked up. She deceived us, betrayed each of us by partnering with the cult leader over there, through his sister.” He motioned to Clive, dead beneath the ladder leading up the shaft. "She's a menace to society. Though she didn't commit any crime here, do not give her the chance to escape. She will find a way to slip your noose. She needs to be in custody, questioned, as Shane said."

"We already agree about that," Omar said.

“Then finally, I need your word no harm will come to the three of us. Mr. Riley and Isaiah deserve safe passage back home. Neither of them is guilty of anything here, and the story they told General Zari is true. They were swept up in this mess, mostly because of her."

Omar glanced from Natia to Jack but didn't argue.

"Whatever support you can offer from the Egyptian government will be welcome. At the very least, I'd like you to book safe passage for them out of the country, to whatever destination they choose."

"I'm not opposed to that," Omar said. "I've already come to appreciate your friend's ingenuity, and I believe I can trust him."

Jack saw Shane beaming. Apparently, they had had quite the adventure together already.

Omar continued. "And what of you, Professor Swain?”

Jack nodded. "As much as I'd love to secure my own safety, I'm much more interested in helping study this place, to unpack its secrets. I have no interest in taking from your culture, your history. I only hope to lend a hand in uncovering it. I have experience, and I have a book that needs the final chapter – one I believe I just stumbled into."

"So that's what's in it for you?" Omar said. "We agree not to press charges or detain any of you, and you get to publish your findings?"

Jack nodded again. "I have no interest in assuming any control over the findings, nor do I care about retaining all the credit. I would only hope the Egyptian government sees fit to award me the honor of publishing what we found here today. Together."

Omar considered this for a moment. Finally, he looked back at Jack and smiled. "You have a deal, sir. If what you say is true – if the body of Osiris is here somewhere – I have no reason to not honor your requests. It seems your friend here is truly a good man, so I don't doubt I should extend that courtesy to you as well."

Jack let out a sigh of relief. "Thank you, Omar. Truly."

"The job is not done yet though. You still need to produce the body of Osiris."

CHAPTER 89

SHANE

Shane watched the proceedings with interest. Jack had somehow stepped into a role Shane wasn't sure even he could play. The man was diplomatic to a ’T,’ professional in every way, and yet advocated for all of their safety.

Well, all except for Natia's.

He had come to trust her over the time he had known her. Really, now, he realized he just hadn't had a reason not to trust her.

But she certainly had given him one now.

He glared at her as he joined Jack, walking toward the center of the pyramid. The square layout was now easy to see in full view, thanks to the larger flashlights the CSF men had brought down with them, all of which had been turned on and placed on the floor in different directions.

Two of the men still guarded Natia, and though Shane had no doubt she could take both of them out while handcuffed, especially considering her hands were in front of her still, he didn't think she would.

She was smart and would play this not as though she lost everything, but as just a minor setback. She would bide her time, perhaps even allowing them to bring her back to Cairo to be detained.

But Shane knew better than to think she would actually go all the way through with it. No, somewhere, somehow, between this place and Cairo, she would find a way out. She would escape and disappear once more.

Shane knew he would never speak to her again. She couldn't trust him now any more than he could trust her. She would be gone, like a wraith.

A literal thief in the night.

Jack stopped at the center of the space, beckoning for Isaiah and Shane to join him. He did, and Isaiah handed Shane an extra flashlight.

"You know what he's doing?" Shane asked Isaiah.

Isaiah smiled. "It started to dawn on me when he mentioned it was something Clive said. I think I figured it out, now."

Jack had fallen back into his academic habit, and Shane knew they were in for a long lecture about Egyptian history.

But to his surprise, Jack spoke succinctly and directly. "Shane, place your flashlight on the floor and point it at one of the walls. It doesn't matter which one, since I got a little turned around down here. I'm not entirely sure which way is north or south, but I'm also not entirely sure north or south is what we're looking for."

"It should be east and west," Isaiah said.

"Right, that's my thought as well. But I didn't want to discount another trick the ancients are trying to play on us. Nevertheless, join him on the other side, Isaiah."

Shane wasn’t sure why it mattered which way was which, but he obliged.

Omar stood nearby, arms crossed. The two CSF soldiers not actively guarding Natia stood nearby, each eyeing the wondrous space they found themselves in. Shane guessed neither of them had seen anything like this before. Neither of them had expected to stumble into an ancient tomb filled with treasure today.

Shane set the base of the flashlight on the stone floor, then pointed it at the wall behind Jack. It was plenty bright enough to illuminate a large circular section at the center of the wall, but Shane wasn't sure what the point was. He saw nothing there.

"Move your flashlight left to right, slowly. Up and down, as well. Basically, try to illuminate the entire wall in sections."

"What am I looking for?" Shane asked.

Isaiah had started doing the same thing on another wall, one directly to the left of Shane's. Finally, he gasped.

Jack turned and looked at what Isaiah had found. "That," he said, pointing.

Shane moved his flashlight now, joining it to Isaiah's and together they pointed at a rectangular hole about halfway up the sloping pyramid wall.

"Perfect," Jack said. "Okay, my guess is that's the west wall. Shane, keep looking on the other walls for a similar rectangle. It won't be in the same place, but it will look similar."

Shane nodded, doing as he was told. It took another minute, but finally, after carefully examining every square inch of the wall on the east side of the pyramid, he found it.

It was very near the top, almost hidden in shadow, but just below the apex of the pyramid, Shane saw another rectangle.

It seemed to be the same size as Isaiah's, though appearing smaller as it was much farther up.

"Isaiah's rectangle is likely one that corresponds to a particular point in the Orion constellation," Jack explained. "Obviously, this can only be seen at night, and only during the particular time we find ourselves in now."

Shane nodded along, though he didn't quite understand the exact ramifications. Nevertheless, he felt pulled to the professor's words. A man who would spend his life studying this, finally getting to experience the discovery of something of this magnitude firsthand.

Shane didn't need to understand every minute detail to know this was a big moment for him.

"Shane, I believe your rectangular hole corresponds to the sun itself. Obviously, something only seen during the day, in this case, only during the summer solstice."

Shane nodded. "So these are shafts? They go all the way out to the surface?"

"Without a doubt," he said. "But they've been filled in, no longer capable of illuminating the space inside."

"Just like Giza," Isaiah said.

"Exactly," Jack said. "Shafts were found inside the Great Pyramid of Giza, aligned much like these two particular star clusters, one part of the Orion constellation, and one part of the…” he looked up to see everyone staring blankly back at him. “Well, you get the idea. Using scans, we've discovered that these shafts sometimes run all the way through the pyramid, and open to broad daylight. But one of them ends at a brick wall."

"Can you scan what's behind the brick wall?" Shane asked.

"We can, and we have. The previous minister of antiquities did just that, in fact. He discovered that the wall was not really a wall at all, but more like a door. A door that's been sealed shut. Because, to everyone's surprise, the block in front of the shaft actually sits between the shaft and a larger space beyond."

"Wait a minute," Shane said. "They found another room inside the pyramid?"

"Indeed they did. It's a small room, but it's a room nonetheless. We don't know what's inside, as all excavation and discovery and study were stopped immediately after."

"Why?" Shane asked.

Isaiah's eyes fell to the stone floor as he answered for Jack. "Because that's the way the Egyptian government operates," he said. "An investigation like that would be too visible, too public."

"The Egyptian government is just trying to be careful. It cannot risk damaging one of the country's – the world's – greatest historical sites. There's really no way to uncover what's inside that room without damaging the stone doorway leading into it. Whatever's inside needs to be studied with high-powered lasers, scanning technology we don't quite have yet."

"Okay, I get it," Shane said. "But the point stands – there's a precedent for Egyptians using shafts like this to pinpoint particular locations inside pyramids."

"Yes."

"A pyramid like the one we're standing inside of now," Shane said. "And if I can extrapolate further, this pyramid is underground. You keep saying, as above, so below. So that suggests to me that these two shafts both pinpoint a particular place on the floor of the pyramid. Perhaps another room, much like the one we discovered at Giza."

Jack's smile grew, and he took Shane's flashlight. "That's exactly what I'm saying," he said.

With a flourish, he turned the flashlight around and pointed it up at the rectangle. He fiddled with the end of the flashlight cylinder, narrowing the beam. It had the effect of throwing the light farther than it had previously, and it was just wider than the width of the rectangular slit up above.

He moved around the space then, almost dancing as he walked, unable to control his excitement. Finally, after reaching high above his head with the flashlight and pointing it toward the rectangle, Shane saw a bit of the shaft illuminate.

His eyes widened.

"This, I believe, is the exact angle light would come through under the right conditions. We're obviously looking at it backward, but if I try to keep the same angle, backing away and down and crouching until the flashlight is on the floor, I believe that will be the right spot."

Isaiah repeated Professor Swain's motions with his own flashlight, backing up and suddenly bumping into Jack. Together, the two men wiggled their flashlights around, trying to keep their respective shafts illuminated as much as possible, and finally set the bases of the lights together on the stone floor.

There was a long pause, then Jack stood up, took a few steps back, and looked at the others.

Omar stepped up next to him, a look of intrigue on his face. "That's it?" he asked.

Jack nodded.

Isaiah stood as well, then backed up a step, then crouched down again and tapped the metal flashlight against the stone floor.

To Shane's surprise, the sound wasn't a dull clicking sound but instead a deep, resonant thud.

Whatever was beneath this section of stone was hollow.

Isaiah moved to the left and brushed his hand against the floor. After a moment, he looked up, his eyes wide. "The floor here," he said. "It's not solid stone."

Jack ran over, crouched down across from Isaiah, and repeated his motion. Shane saw him trace a line, invisible to him, with his finger.

"I think we've found the opening."

CHAPTER 90

SHANE

The lid covering the square hole in the floor was similar to the lid that had been on all the sarcophagi. This one, however, was thinner and much lighter. Though it looked to be fashioned from the same stone as the floor around it, Shane wondered if there was some sort of veneer on top and the lid itself had been made from much lighter wood.

After examining all four edges for a few minutes, Jack and Isaiah, now aided by Omar and one of his men, found two indentations that had been filled in with sand to match the smooth stone the lid was inset into. These indentations allowed their fingers to slip underneath, grip the lid, and hoist it up.

Jack stepped back, allowing the three men to lift the lid while he shined the flashlight. Shane could almost feel the man's giddy demeanor. It was certainly evident in his eyes, which shone with an intensity Shane hadn’t seen in him before.

"This is it," he whispered.

Isaiah, Omar, and the CSF soldier lifted the lid up and away, tilting it back on its fourth side. Isaiah stepped away from his side, and Shane shone the flashlight down into the space.

"What is it?" Shane asked.

Jack's mouth fell open. "Stairs. They go deeper still."

Omar and his man finished pulling the lid off the opening, then gently set it down on the side. Shane joined Jack and Isaiah as they stared down into the abyss.

And it was the abyss.

The inky blackness of the path forward fought against Jack's flashlight, eventually winning out over the light about 50 feet diagonally down. Whatever was at the end of the staircase was unknowable from up here.

Shane swallowed. "Okay, who's going to head down into the spooky cellar underneath the secret pyramid first?"

Jack shot him a glance, answering immediately. "I will."

Shane chuckled, knowing he shouldn't have been surprised. The professor would jump at an opportunity like this, no doubt.

Omar said something quickly to the two men guarding Natia, then his third and fourth men joined. He ordered them to guard one of the shafts, and Shane realized Omar wasn't about to take any chances with the assassin. He had two men guarding her closely, standing nearby but not close enough where she could strike out before they got their guns raised. The other two men would stay farther back, guarding the only two exits from this place.

It was as good a plan as any. It also proved that Omar fully trusted them now.

"Let's go," Omar said.

Omar followed Jack downward, and Shane pulled in line behind Isaiah, forming the back of their little procession. They descended slowly, everyone on high alert, Shane half expecting more booby traps or missing stairs. There weren't any of either. The way forward was obvious—the ceiling was low and walls no wider than the stairs themselves. There was one way, and that way was forward.

They walked for 15 minutes, descending ever deeper into the bedrock beneath the Egyptian plateau. Jack moved painstakingly slow, but Shane knew he was just being extra cautious. The last thing the professor would want was to die just before discovering what he predicted would be here.

Finally, after what Shane guessed had to be two or 300 feet beneath the bottom of the pyramid base, they reached another hallway.

"It's like the burial tomb chamber at Giza," Isaiah said. "It even has the same proportions."

"Yes," Jack said from up ahead. "And over there – it's the well."

Shane frowned. "There was a well inside the Giza pyramid?"

"Not inside, but underneath," Jack answered.

Omar picked up the thread. "I know this,” he said. “And it’s not really a well, it just looks like one. The one at Giza has been mostly filled with stone and sand though, so if there was ever anything beneath it, we still don't know about it."

"What's in this one?" Shane asked.

His question was met with silence, as all four men walked forward, flashlights dancing left and right. The space they were in now was devoid of all decoration, the garish artistic displays from high above in the antechamber leading down to this place in stark contrast. The walls were just stone, carved by hand thousands of years ago, and Shane could see some drips of moisture where water had finally found its way into the subterranean space. The ceiling was still low, and Shane had to duck to continue forward.

The well Jack spoke of came fully into view then, standing about 3 feet off the ground at the opposite side of the room. Beyond that, there was nothing. The rectangular room gave no clues as to the way forward. There were simply stairs leading into a space, with a well erected on the opposite side of it. From what Shane could see behind the other three men, there was no other way forward. This was it.

This was the end of Osiris’ temple.

Jack approached the well slowly, pulling his flashlight out as if it were a sword protecting him from anyone who might rush up at him from inside the well.

Shane shivered. Wouldn't that be a story? He thought of the movie The Ring, pictured the decaying girl's body, her hair matted and wet, pulling herself limb by limb from the depths of a well not unlike this one.

Yeah, he really hoped there was no one inside.

"Oh my God," Jack said suddenly. "There's someone inside."

Shane rolled his eyes, but considering Jack had not been suddenly attacked by a horror movie character, he pressed forward, bumping up against Omar and Isaiah on either side.

"Guys," Jack said. "This is it. It has to be."

Shane gathered his courage and walked forward, and all four of them around the well took position and peered into it.

Only it wasn't a well. It was ovular, and it was also clear that this structure had never been meant to draw water from deeper underground. It was only a few feet deep – ending on the stone floor itself, and it was far wider than Shane originally thought. It was almost rectangular in shape, rounded on two sides, with long sides connecting them.

Inlaying inside, mummified and still very much present… was a body.

The cadaver’s arms were crossed over its chest, and while most of it had collapsed in on itself, leaving nothing but dust around the sides of the base of the well, Shane could tell where its head and feet were, the shape of its waist, tapered a bit before it reached the torso.

It was slight, small, and even in death Shane could tell it had been a short man while alive. Not at all what he would have expected, but then again he never expected to find an actual body down here.

There was a long moment of silence, of reverence as everyone realized what they were looking at.

“It’s a mummy,” Shane said. “Is it Osiris?”

"The first mummy," Jack said softly. “And yes. It has to be. The body of the man-turned-God, the deity they called Osiris."

Neither Omar nor Isaiah spoke, but Shane couldn’t blame them. He was at a loss for words himself, though he had no connections to this culture other than a passing interest. Nothing like this had ever been found, nor was it likely anything like it ever would be.

He felt pride knowing he was part of the group to find it, knowing this would go down in history as one of the greatest discoveries of all time, perhaps even putting his name in a footnote beneath it.

“What now?” Shane asked.

They stared for another moment before Omar responded.

"I believe my career has just been made,” Omar said. Then, he turned to the others standing around the well sarcophagus.

“And you all get to go home.”

CHAPTER 91

SHANE

Excavations began almost immediately, starting early the next day. Omar called back to the home office, informing them that General Zari was dead and that he would be updating the powers that be with the details in his report and debrief.

He requested an excavation team and was surprised to find one in nearby Mit Rahina, already prepared with the location. It was clear this was the team Clive had alluded to, the contract excavation crew familiar with state-sanctioned digs all around Egypt.

The 20 men and women that showed up the next day surprised Shane by how excited and engaged they were. Most of them were day laborers, the types of workers who weren't afraid to get their hands dirty but didn't care for the project they were on any more than the next minimum-wage worker. However, it seemed to him these people were acting as though they had some skin in the game.

They'd stayed the night at the site after discovering Osiris’ mummy, heading back upstairs and outside to the macabre battleground they left behind. Shane was exhausted, but he knew he would get his chance to sleep soon, so he stayed up with Jack, Isaiah, and Omar, discussing their find and what would become of it.

The four CSF men joined the rest of their contingent—another dozen or so men and women from the Central Security Forces—and this combined group took turns watching Natia while they waited for exfil from an Egyptian military chopper.

General Zari's own chopper had left, ordered by Omar to head back to Cairo. It was too small a vehicle to carry all of them out together, and Omar wanted Shane and the others to stay with him to ensure their safety.

While everyone at the site this morning seemed to be focused solely on the incredible discovery that lay beneath their feet, Shane knew there were always stirrings of betrayal, plenty of room for one of the workers to get a wild hair and decide to change plans. Shane wasn't worried for his own safety, but once they'd committed to leaving all of the treasure safely downstairs in the old pyramid, he committed to his role as its protector. No one but the Egyptian government had permission to move any of it.

It was a busy morning, and though the exhaustion had almost worn Shane down for good, he made it through. The sun was barely peeking over the horizon, the excavation crew already hard at work for the past two hours, and Shane turned to address Omar.

"What now?" he asked.

The last time he'd asked his new friend, Omar had simply told him it was time for him to head home, but they hadn't discussed details.

"You're a hero. You, the professor, Isaiah. So what would you like to do next?"

Shane chuckled. "I've been called a lot of things, Omar. Not sure ‘hero’s’ ever been one of them."

“But it is true," Omar said, waiting for the excavation crew leader to head over. "The world will know of this discovery soon, and your name will be associated with it. If you have any ask of my government, now would be the time."

"Ask?" he asked. "Omar, that’s… what are you getting at?"

Shane wasn't sure if Omar meant he should bribe the Egyptian government, or otherwise try to coerce them to give him a wad of cash. Was that really how these things played out?

"You've given the Egyptian government something they’ve been fighting for millennia to protect: the truth, packaged up in a way they can control it. You've also given them something this modern government seems to appreciate very much."

Shane raised an eyebrow, questioning.

"Someone to put in prison."

Shane grinned. "She is a foreigner, so I'm sure the optics will play well."

Omar returned the smile. "They will. 'Foreign Contractor Attempts to Steal Priceless Egyptian Artifacts; Thwarted By Local Hero.'"

"I suppose you're the hero in that particular headline?" Shane asked.

Omar held his hands open, palms out, as if signifying humility. "Hey, I didn't ask for it. It's your fault, really."

"My fault? I was just along for the ride. I think our involvement here is yet another thing you can blame on Natia."

Omar laughed. "Seriously though, Mr. Riley. I cannot thank you enough. Nothing's been confirmed yet, but I suspect I will receive a promotion—or even two—immediately upon my return. General Zari will need to be replaced, and fast. I was working with him very closely, and while there are a few other political appointees who normally would beat me to the appointment, I'm guessing I wouldn't be surprised if the situation has changed now."

"Are you telling me I'm looking at the new Minister of Antiquities?" Shane asked. He knew little of the Egyptian government's structure and individual roles, but he knew this one was important. It had cultural impact, and—thanks to General Zari's posturing—immense power.

"Perhaps."

Shane nodded. Jack and Isaiah had been discussing something quietly next to him. They turned and offered handshakes to the excavation foreman as he approached.

Omar spoke to him in rapid-fire Arabic, then turned to Shane. "He is impressed by how well the tomb has been preserved," Omar said. "And he is impressed with how well you have kept it that way."

Shane squinted, not understanding at first.

Jack laughed. "You mean, considering all the dead bodies down there?"

The foreman continued with Omar for a moment more, then turned and walked away, barking orders at two of the men standing nearby with wheelbarrows, each full of sand and stone they'd taken from the base of the collapsed must, just near the stairs they'd all used to access the subterranean complex.

"Listen, Mr. Riley," Omar said, turning once again to him and the others. He spoke Shane's name, but it was clear he was addressing Jack and Isaiah as well. "As I said, I don't want to promise anything, but if you have any asks of the government, I would suggest preparing them. The next few days will be busy, as we get back to Cairo and everyone there will want to hear about your story."

"I told you before," Jack began, "all I want is a bit of credit. Perhaps the Egyptian government can put their stamp of approval on my manuscript?" he asked.

Omar nodded along. "This is almost guaranteed, Professor Swain. Your work here will not be forgotten, nor will it go unrewarded. But I must stress: my government likes to apply their stamp of approval with… more than just handwaving and celebration."

Jack frowned. Shane, too, couldn't be sure what exactly Omar was saying.

"Can you be more specific, Omar?" Shane said. "Give us an idea of what we should ask of your government? We wouldn't want to be rude, you know." He winked as he said it.

Omar responded immediately. "Well, in the past, crews uncovering rare finds have all been given a bonus. Nothing exceptional, but something to make loyalty to Egypt worth their time and interest. But this—this is far bigger. And your role is far more than just a crew member who stumbled upon something neat."

"Can't argue with that," Jack said.

"As such, I would think my government would not hesitate to offer you all a stipend. Perhaps even a lump sum payout."

Shane's eyes widened. "You mean... money?"

"What did you think bonus meant, Mr. Riley? You've experienced the downside of a country governed so strongly by protecting its own interests, history, and culture. But there is an upside, too. Assuming you continue to speak well of Egypt, tell the real truth of what happened here—that foreigners came to steal pieces of our history, prized possessions of an ancient people belonging to Egypt—my government will see that you are appropriately rewarded."

Shane paused, looking at Isaiah and Jack. The two other men shared glances with Shane, trying to contain their laughter and approval.

"How appropriate... is appropriate?" Shane asked.

Omar nodded. "It will be a negotiation, likely with the minister and a few other key members. My boss will be there, of course. Mostly, they want to hear your story, not to fact-check it as much as because it is such a fantastic tale. They want to know of General Zari's demise, but I doubt any of them will be surprised—he had more paid-off loyalists than friends, and I suspect many of them will be relieved to hear he is no longer exerting his grip over them."

Shane waited, knowing Omar was coming to the punchline.

"Anyway, I believe a respectable amount to start with is $1 million. United States currency, of course. Which we can convert into Australian dollars if you⁠—"

"$1 million?" Shane asked, incredulous. "$1 million… just because we found Osiris's tomb?"

Omar looked pained at first. "I understand this may not be what you were hoping for, but as I said, it’s a start. It's a negotiation. Perhaps⁠—"

Shane reached forward and embraced Omar, squeezing him tightly. Omar looked even more confused now, when Shane finally released him. The younger man looked to Jack and Isaiah, who were each sharing glances with Shane, trying to contain their laughter and approval.

"Well, Omar. As you said—it's a negotiation. I suspect that will be a fine place to start."

EPILOGUE

Shane sipped the ginger beer with his eyes closed, tossing his head back as he leaned into the stiff cushion of the booth. He released the beverage from his lips but kept his eyes closed for a few extra seconds. Opening them would do nothing but remind him of the hell he'd entered into.

Finally, he did just that, looking around at the devastation. Jason's pub was in a horrendous state of disrepair, and smashed and broken pieces of bar paraphernalia, booths, tables, and chairs were all piled high in the middle of the floor.

Jason and the insurance company had decided to fully gut the interior, replacing everything and upgrading at the same time. Jason had told Shane his insurance company hadn't quite agreed that the place needed a complete overhaul, but Shane had barely let Jason finish before offering him a prewritten check.

$100,000, free and clear. Jason didn't have to use it for the bar, but it appeared now that's exactly what he'd done.

Shane felt responsible for the attack on Jason's place, not to mention obligated to help his friend after they'd crashed there the night before leaving for Cairo. He never explained fully what exactly he had gotten himself into, but he did bring in a copy of an archaeological journal featuring a write-up of the newly discovered tomb of Osiris near ancient Memphis, Egypt.

Jason had at first appeared quizzical, unsure of what Shane's point was going to be. But when Shane—always the reclusive, quiet type—simply asked for a ginger beer and sat in the corner in the one booth still standing, Jason nodded slowly. He understood enough. He knew Shane's past, knew about Kate's death, about Shane's recent escapades in North Korea and now Egypt. He didn't need to know the details to know that his friend had not only been through whatever he got pulled into but had also come out of it successfully. Relatively, at least.

Shane watched Jason dodge the growing pile in the middle of his now gutted restaurant space, holding another pair of ice-cold ginger beers. Shane had asked about the brand he found deep in the heart of Egypt, and Jason had surprisingly been able to scrounge up a couple of cases.

He sat across from Shane, dodging a gigantic hole that had been torn in his half of the booth, coming to rest against the wall opposite Shane.

"Been a week," Jason said.

“It’s been a week."

Neither man spoke again for a while, each sipping the fresh ginger beer in silence.

Jason had asked Shane, after Shane forced him to take the money, about what he should do in terms of remodeling and redecorating. At that, Shane had left—that was something Kate handled, not him. If left to his own devices, Shane wouldn't even own furniture, opting to sleep on an army cot in the middle of his floor.

Jason then told him he was calling in an expert. Someone he trusted, who he knew could make the place come alive. Shane had shrugged, not really caring one way or another what Jason did with the place. It was his, after all, and now it was his free and clear.

"I think she'll be here soon," Jason suddenly said.

Shane's eyes widened. "Who?"

"The person I told you would come help me fix the bar up. I trust her opinion on that sort of thing."

"She some kind of interior designer?"

"No, better. She's a real person." He laughed, then took another swig. "Those interior designer folks just want to make a name for themselves by making every space they enter as garish as possible. Hell, you can't even use half the furniture they want to put in a place like this."

Shane shrugged again, not having any experience in the matter whatsoever.

He heard the ring of the newly installed bell on Jason's door. The entire wall had been completed yesterday, a brand-new façade for the building that sat on the corner of a street tucked away off the main street of the small town. It was nice, not terribly different from what it had been before, but this one a little more purposefully designed to show off the fact that Jason's pub was a classy establishment.

Paneled wood on the bottom, pane glass on the top, all the way across the front of the store. The door was new, heavy, and made of some sort of wood. Shane hated the bell, but he would never tell Jason that. The guy wanted a classy bar, and classy bars had to have a bell.

At least, that's what Jason had said.

Shane gripped the ginger beer tightly, watching the doors swing open. He half expected another mercenary cultist to jump through and start shooting again.

The person who came in was not Middle Eastern. Not Egyptian, not even a man. It was a woman, beautiful. Slender, but not skinny.

But to Shane, the most attractive feature of all was her confidence. She carried her head high, chin forward, and marched around the giant pile of trash and broken furniture as if she expected to be there. She didn't bat an eye—she didn't seem to be bothered.

Shane's mouth fell open. "Michaela?"

Michaela Everly walked briskly over, suddenly standing at the end of the table.

"I'd offer you a seat, but..." Jason said.

Michaela looked down at the destroyed half of the booth she stood nearest to, then laughed.

Then she turned and looked at Shane. "It's been a while, Shane Riley."

Shane couldn't find his words. How had Jason known? He didn't even realize the man had her number. Perhaps Michaela had called him? Yeah, that seemed more likely. That was the sort of move this woman would make. She would maneuver all of the variables in her life, aligning them in a way that one domino pushed over would topple them all, leading to the exact outcome she designed.

Am I the outcome she's designed?

Jason cleared his throat, and Shane opened and closed his mouth, still unable to make words come out.

Finally, he understood what Jason was doing. He shifted to the side, offering Michaela his seat.

"Uh, yeah… it's⁠—"

Michaela and Jason laughed together. Michaela sat, turning inward so she could stare at Shane. He felt his face flush, turning red with embarrassment. Why am I embarrassed? Did he have something to be embarrassed about?

"We can work on proper sentence structure later," she said. "For now, just a simple hello would do."

He had so much to tell her, so much to say. The way he cut her off last time, told her not to come knocking. He basically told her he didn't want her to be part of his life, didn't need her in it.

He knew in an instant—he'd always known—that was horribly wrong. He did need her. He wanted her.

Finally, he found the right word, but only needed one.

"Hello, Michaela."

AFTERWORD

If you liked this book (or even if you hated it…) write a review or rate it. You might not think it makes a difference, but it does.

Besides actual currency (money), the currency of today’s writing world is reviews. Reviews, good or bad, tell other people that an author is worth reading.

As an “indie” author, I need all the help I can get. I’m hoping that since you made it this far into my book, you have some sort of opinion on it.

Would you mind sharing that opinion? It only takes a second.

Nick Thacker

BOOKS BY NICK THACKER

Six Assassins Thrillers

Primary Target (Book 1)

Subtle Target (Book 2)

Unstable Target (Book 3)

Captive Target (Book 4)

Vendetta Target (Book 5)

Final Target (Book 6)

Mason Dixon Thrillers

Mark for Blood (Book 1)

Death Mark (Book 2)

Mark My Words (Book 3)

Harvey Bennett Mysteries

The Enigma Strain (Book 1)

The Amazon Code (Book 2)

The Ice Chasm (Book 3)

The Jefferson Legacy (Book 4)

The Paradise Key (Book 5)

The Atlantis Artifact (Book 6)

The Book of Bones (Book 7)

The Cain Conspiracy (Book 8)

The Mendel Paradox (Book 9)

The Minoan Manifest (Book 10)

The Napoleon Job (Book 11)

The Embers of Siwa (Book 12)

The Epsilon Event (Book 13)

The Cerberus Protocol (Book 14)

The Russian Betrayal (Book 15)

Harvey Bennett Mysteries - Books 1-3

Harvey Bennett Mysteries - Books 4-6

Harvey Bennett Mysteries - Books 7-9

Harvey Bennett Prequels

The Icarus Effect (written with MP MacDougall)

The Severed Pines (written with Jim Heskett)

The Lethal Bones (written with Jim Heskett)

Gareth Red Thrillers

Seeing Red

Chasing Red (written with Kevin Ikenberry)

The Lucid

The Lucid: Episode One (written with Kevin Tumlinson)

The Lucid: Episode Two (written with Kevin Tumlinson)

The Lucid: Episode Three (written with Kevin Tumlinson

Standalone Thrillers

The Atlantis Stone

The Depths

Relics: A Post-Apocalyptic Technothriller

Killer Thrillers (3-Book Box Set)

Short Stories

I, Sergeant

Instinct

The Gray Picture of Dorian

Uncanny Divide (written with Kevin Tumlinson and Will Flora)

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Nick Thacker is a thriller author from Texas who lives in Hawaii and Colorado. In his free time, he enjoys reading in a hammock on the beach, skiing, drinking whiskey, and hanging out with his beautiful wife, two dogs, and two daughters.

For more information and a list of Nick’s other work, visit Nick online:

www.nickthacker.com

The Giza Cipher: Shane Riley Adventures, Book #2

Copyright © 2024 by Nick Thacker

Published by Conundrum Publishing

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance of fictional characters to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

All right reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, photocopying, mechanical, or otherwise—without prior permission of the publisher and author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.