"I want you to find out who killed him."
"It shouldn't be too hard," Rhoades said. "He was approached by a woman in the club. There are cameras. Nothing in the alley where he died. Plenty of tape from inside."
"Get the tapes. I don't think it was an unhappy client."
"Who else would it be?"
"Who knows? The Israelis, perhaps? However I think they would be more subtle. It may have been someone with an interest in my affairs."
"It's possible," Rhoades said. "I'll look into it."
"Something else. There is another scroll," Al-Bayati said. "I want you to obtain it. It may help us find the tomb."
"Another? Where is it?"
"In the British Museum. Locate it and bring it to me."
Rhoades looked nervous. "It's too late to go today…"
Al-Bayati laughed. "Don't worry, you don't have to go until tomorrow. You know I need you to assist me. Is everything prepared?"
"Yes. The new moon will rise in about forty minutes."
"The boy?"
"In his room. He has already received the drug."
"Good. Go over to the sideboard. You'll find what you need there."
Rhoades walked over to the sideboard and picked up the foil wrapped ball. He popped the pills into his mouth and swallowed them dry.
"Get the boy ready and bring him to my bedroom."
Rhoades left the room and Al-Bayati leaned back in the comfortable chair and closed his eyes, feeling the power of the ancient drugs begin to lift him into a different realm.
The formulas Al-Bayati used to create his heightened awareness dated back thousands of years, to a time when Carthage had been as great as her rival Rome. Nazar believed he was descended from a high priest of Carthage. It was as his father had taught him, as his father had been taught as well, going back in an unbroken line through the millennia
Carthage had long since turned to dust but the true religion had been kept alive in secret throughout the centuries. There had always been worshipers and priests to serve the god. Now, most of the followers were gone. Nazar was the last of his line, the last who knew the true mysteries. He'd been unable to sire a male heir. If there was one thing in his life he regretted, it was that. Not long ago he had come to the realization that time was running out for him. The women he had coupled with in the past had failed to produce a male child, always it was a girl. The women disappeared. He'd found another use for the girls who were born.
No one had ever bothered to ask what happened to the women. They wouldn't have dared. People didn't ask Nazar Al-Bayati about things like that. He had his eye on a new candidate. If she didn't produce, Al-Bayati had come to the conclusion he would have to choose a successor not of his blood. It was a difficult realization, one he did not want to accept. Tonight's sacrifice would be special, meant to draw the god's favor to him. Surely, his prayer would be answered.
He stood and swayed for a moment as his body adjusted to the drugs. Everything in the room glowed with light and color. The soft touch of his silk robe was like a caress. He could feel the blood coursing through his veins and heat in his groin. The god was not jealous. The boy's virginity was not a requirement.
The power of his youthful blood was what counted.
CHAPTER 16
Selena's reputation as a renowned lecturer in ancient Middle Eastern and Oriental languages opened doors at the British Museum kept closed to the public. The museum housed one of the greatest collections in existence of Middle Eastern artifacts. There had been a time when British expeditions bent on exploration and discovery had covered the globe. Crumbling ruins no one cared about turned out to be treasure houses of statuary, treasure, carvings and cultural items from lost civilizations.
The world had changed since the days of empire. Many of the acquisitions had become controversial. As far as Nick knew, the scroll they were interested in wasn't one of them.
Nick and Selena were met by a man in his fifties wearing a conservative worsted suit. He wore glasses with designer frames that had probably cost close to a thousand dollars. He had a thin, aristocratic face with an expression as though there had been too much lemon in his tea and sported a thin, sandy mustache that reminded Nick of pictures he'd seen of British officers during World War I. He introduced himself as Sir Peter Wainwright. Wainwright was the man in charge of the Department of the Middle East.
"I must say, it's a genuine pleasure to meet you, Doctor Connor. I haven't seen much in the journals from you lately. Your treatise a few years ago on classical Greek was quite intriguing."
"Thank you, Sir Peter. I've been looking forward to meeting you. This is my personal secretary, Nicholas Carter."
Nick and Selena had agreed before going in that he would play the role of gofer and assistant. She'd laughed at his look and promised not to send him out for coffee.
"How do you do?" Wainwright shook hands with Nick.
"Pleasure," Nick said.
Wainwright's handshake was limp and slightly damp. Wainwright turned back to Selena, dismissing him. Nick resisted the urge to dry his hand on his pants.
"I understand you're interested in our scroll by Ephram."
"That's correct."
"May I ask why that scroll in particular? We have many fine examples of Aramaic scrolls."
"I was curious about the reference to the Queen of Sheba," Selena said. "The museum catalog mentions its presence. There's no further information except to date it to the first century CE."
Wainwright pursed his lips. "Space in the catalog is at something of a premium. It was felt that it merited only a listing."
"And the content?" Selena probed.
"It's a rather uninspired travel diary. Perhaps it's better if you look at it yourself. I confess that I have never read it."
"Then how do you know what's in it?" Nick said.
Selena gave him a warning look.
Wainwright sniffed.
"There are good people under me upon whom I rely," he said. "My specialty is cunieform."
"Of course," Nick said. "A foolish question."
Selena looked at him again. He smiled at her.
"This way," Wainwright said.
He led them past two winged lions with human heads flanking a short hall. The hall ended at a magnificent wooden gate placed against the wall.
"Those are from Nimrud in Iraq," Wainwright said. "About 860 BCE or thereabouts."
"Impressive," Nick said. "Those lions would look pretty good on the entrance to somebody's driveway."
Selena rolled her eyes. Wainwright ignored him. They came to an unmarked door. Wainwright took out a set of keys and opened it. He led them through a room filled with shelves stacked with packaged and boxed and numbered artifacts. They came to a wooden work table. Wainwright reached up to a shelf above it.
"Here we are," Wainwright said. "You're in luck. The Ephram scroll was recently prepared for display as an example of the day to day tedium of a trading caravan from the period and writing typical of the era. And of course there's the brief mention of the Queen of Sheba. That adds interest. There's damage, however I'm told it's quite readable."
The ancient parchment had been unrolled and mounted flat in a glass box filled with inert gas. It was about four feet long and a little over a foot high. Rips and holes broke up the narrative in several places. The last part of the scroll was little more than fragments. Narrow lines of tiny writing covered the visible surface.
"Where was it discovered?" Selena asked.
"In Egypt, during the nineteenth century," Wainwright said. "It was found with several other scrolls in a villa dating from the time of Cleopatra."
"When the Romans were there."
"Yes."
"Do the Egyptians want it back?"
"They do. They've been waiting for it, along with everything else we have here that came from Egypt. I'm afraid they'll have rather a long wait."