“Bow, American. Bow before your pharaoh.”
The voice echoed through the room. It was crisp and commanding, with a hint of a Middle Eastern accent, but only a hint.
Gabriel moved toward the throne. He was off to one side and could see that it was still empty—and there was no one behind it, either. But as he watched, a man suddenly appeared, stepping out from a patch of shadow.
Khufu was as Lucy had described him, dressed in the vestments of an Egyptian pharaoh, from the wood-soled sandals up to the ornate nemes, the striped royal headdress. The nemes had fine accordion pleating on lappets, folds that were held to the forehead with a metal band. And below that band, covering his face, the man wore a carved mask of a falcon. Gabriel recognized it as the face of Horus, the god of pharaohs. The man also wore an ankle-length transparent robe—transparency once signified an Egyptian’s wealth and importance—and beneath the robe he wore a loincloth. Aside from several gold bracelets on his arms, the rest of his sinewy body was bare. He held a golden scepter in his right hand, its head curved like a cobra about to strike.
“You shall bow to me, American,” Khufu said. “Willingly or no.”
Gabriel didn’t move. “This is quite a display,” he said, “but that’s all it is. A display. Any man could build it, if he was rich enough and had a thing for King Tut. I’m not impressed.”
“You are insolent,” the masked man said, advancing toward him. “Amun told me it was so.”
“Good,” Gabriel said. “That’ll save us some time.”
The man leveled the end of his scepter in Gabriel’s direction. “We agree: there is no point in wasting time.” He gestured with the scepter—and suddenly Gabriel found himself blinded with an agonizing wave of pain.
It was as if he’d licked a finger and stuck it in an outlet. A jolt of high-voltage electricity shot through his body, making every hair stand on end and every nerve ending burn. He felt himself flung to the floor with tremendous force. He slid backward a few feet, stunned by the charge.
Khufu stood motionless, still pointing the scepter.
What the hell was that thing?
He tried to stand but Khufu aimed the scepter at him again. Gabriel put his hands up before him. “Okay, okay, I get—”
Another jolt of electricity shot through him, causing every muscle in his body to clench tight as a fist. He felt it in his eyelids and the soles of his feet. He could smell his hair singe.
“Those who cultivate the seeds of disobedience,” Khufu said, “reap only pain.” He lowered the scepter. “Now, rise. If you can.”
Gabriel slowly rolled over, groaned involuntarily, got to his hands and knees. He finally managed to stand. His entire body ached and his knees trembled.
“You are strong,” Khufu said. “But no man is strong enough to withstand the fury of the gods. If I smite you once more, your innards will cook inside you, your bowels turn to water; once more again and your heart will burst. There are few worse deaths.”
Gabriel didn’t answer.
“I have done this to you for a reason,” Khufu said. “I wish to demonstrate that you are at my mercy. You live or die by my grace.”
“Consider the point made,” Gabriel said.
“Good. Now, Amun tells me you have agreed to help us find the Second Stone.”
“I did agree,” Gabriel said. “I’m having second thoughts now.”
“Don’t. You should be honored to be chosen. It will be an event celebrated throughout the course of history. Your name will be forever linked to its discovery. When the new world is born out of the ashes of the old, you will have been a part of it. You should rejoice in your good fortune.”
“That’s all right. You can rejoice for both of us.”
“Oh, I will. The Second Stone will allow me to lead Egypt into a new reign of power. First, the Middle East. Israel will bow at our feet. Saudi Arabia will acknowledge the true masters of Africa. Then the Mediterranean will be ours again. We will take back Rome and Constantinople. And finally your own distant borders will fall. Egypt will be the leader of the world once again.”
“Well, no one can accuse you of thinking small,” Gabriel said.
“The most satisfying conquest, of course, will be France. To exact revenge on the country that raped Egypt during Napoleon’s reign will be the sweetest victory. Napoleon was a monster and a thief. He and his brother Louis will be visited by Anubis in the afterlife and be subjected to excruciating torment. They already reside in hell, but their existence there will be made worse still, for they will see their people kneel to us. And after the destruction of France, Britain shall fall. We will take back what they hold in their so-called museums and then crush their country. Two new pyramids will rise, one in Paris and one in London, to mark their subjugation.”
Khufu pointed the staff at him again, and Gabriel flinched slightly. “You will cooperate. You will do as Amun says, or you will suffer pain you cannot imagine—and your sister as well. You will find the Second Stone or you will both beg for death’s release.”
Gabriel said nothing.
“Do you understand?”
“Yes, yes, I understand.”
The two men faced each other for a moment. “I believe you do,” Khufu said. “Go, then. Get the rest you require. You have much work to do beginning in the morning.”
Gabriel heard the wall pivot open behind him. He had been dismissed. On unsteady legs, he walked out of the chamber. Kemnebi stood waiting—and caught him when Gabriel’s legs gave out.
Chapter 13
The Hunt Foundation jet was cavernous enough when full. With only one person on it other than Charlie in the cockpit, the emptiness was disquieting. Sammi Ficatier tried to put it out of her mind. She pressed buttons in the armrest of her seat until she found one that dimmed the cabin lights and another that put on some music, and then she put her head back and tried to sleep.
But it was not to be. The music was interrupted by the sound of a phone ringing. It kept ringing till she found another button on the armrest labeled with a picture of a phone and pressed it.
“Miss Ficatier?” It was Michael Hunt’s voice.
“Yes?” she said, unsure whether he could hear her if she just spoke regularly.
Apparently he could. “You promised you’d answer my questions,” Michael said. “When you had the time. As you have a few hours ahead of you now in the air . . .”
“Certainly,” she said. “What would you like to know?”
“How do you know my sister?”
“We took classes together in Nice,” Sammi said. “We became friends.”
“And my brother?”
“We . . . met in Cifer’s apartment.”
“Excuse me?”
“Cifer’s apartment,” Sammi said. “Lucy. Your sister.”
“What are you talking about?” Michael said. “Cifer is a, is a computer hacker who has helped us out from time to time—what does Cifer have to do with my sister?”
“Cifer is your sister,” Sammi said. “She hacks computers, she calls herself Cifer. I thought you knew that.”
There was silence on the other end. Then the voice said, “No. I did not know that.”
Sammi’s heart sank. Had she just said the wrong thing? She knew Cifer didn’t get along with her brother, hadn’t spoken to him for years; she hadn’t known he didn’t even know her name. The hell with it, she thought. Saving your life is more important.
“So,” Michael said, softly, “tell me what happened to my brother.”