Barbara Silkstone - Wendy Darlin 03 - Cairo Caper (5 page)

I glanced toward the shore. The pack of camels had come to a stop slightly ahead of us. Wide Stripe stood on the blackened sand with his hands on his hips, a white turban-like scarf covered his head and face. The diminutive camel herders surrounded him like good little Seven Dwarfs should.

Something splashing behind Roger caught my attention. Two bumps for a head and a long snaky tail. “Crocodile!” I screamed.

Wet face be damned. I kicked off my shoes and jumped into the river. My long skirt, even though weighted by my mummy ashtrays, caught the wind like a parasail and billowed over my head. Mother was right, always wear nice underwear.

I hit the water and wrestled my skirt off my face. My clothes sponged up half the Nile in one slurp. Mud hit my eyelashes welding them together in a mascara pudding. I cleared my eyes and swam toward Roger.

The croc made a lazy circle around him. I was ten feet away when it submerged then surfaced near Roger’s right shoulder.
My
target shoulder. Hey, nobody messes with that shoulder but me. I worked an ashtray out of my skirt, fired my best overhand right, and bonked the croc’s head.

My man was no longer under direct attack, but when the croc turned my way, he smacked Roger with his tail, which crossed Roger’s eyes. That reminded me of something I’d read about poking reptiles in the eyes when under attack. Or was that sharks? I fired my last ashtray straight into the prehistoric critter’s right eye. With luck, the dominant eye. The croc opened its mouth wide, let out an ungodly primeval sound, and turned back toward Roger. I was out of ashtray ammo.

That was when I realized we had company. Not more crocs, but Wide Stripe from the camel pack. He’d lost his head covering. Long bottle-blonde hair swirled around his noggin. Shit… It was my nemesis, Darcy Bone! The silicone queen.

Darcy came out of the water like a Tomahawk missile. She clocked the croc… say that ten times fast… with a hard right. It looked as stunned as I felt and meandered away without looking back.

“Roger, my love. It’s me, Darcy.” She pulled Roger’s head back and planted a kiss on his dazed lips.

I was half treading water and half slipping on the squashy bottom or the top of another croc. “Back off, bitch!” I yanked on her hair. She brought up her meaty hand. Despite the glop I noticed she had a French manicure. Figured.

She pushed me. I fell backward and sank beneath the surface. The water was oily and tasted like diesel fuel smelled.

I rose out of the Nile like Anubis, the god of the underworld, or in my case, the underwater. My wet face fueled my rage. I lunged at her as much as you can lunge at somebody when you’re neck deep in water. Roger tried to grab me, but I squirted out of his hands.

“Join me, Roger! Together we can find Cleopatra’s grave,” she said through a mouthful of water as she pried my fingers from her thick neck.

I pulled on her neck till I was in her face. “Roger and I are married!”

She growled, appropriately enough, like an angry hippo. “The hell you are!”

“He’s mine,” I lied enjoying her fury. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught motion on the riverbank. Swarms of crocodiles were escaping the water. I turned as I sensed Roger swimming away. He was headed for the
Asp.
Not a creature on the Nile wanted to hear Darcy and me go at it. Our last Roger-induced cat fight ended with Darcy in a loony bin in London. But that’s another story.

The bitch swung at me. I slipped under her fist and jumped on her back. I held on with all my might, and watched as Roger climbed on board the Asp. Fiona had her hands to her mouth. Roger yelled to her loud enough for me to hear. “Don’t worry. They do this all the time. It’s embarrassing.”

Petri threw a blanket over Roger’s shoulders. The soggy archaeologist stood on the deck and watched me wrestle with the crazed hippo. I was getting tired and I knew this was going to end in a draw. “Darcy, back off. I’m armed.”

“Liar, liar, pants on fire.”

“Don’t call me a liar. Look out! There’s a crocodile at your back!” I lied.

She turned to look and I swam for all I was worth to the boat.

Roger and Petri helped me board. My face felt like I’d had a ninety-grit sandpaper facial. Roger strung part of his blanket around me and we hobbled to our cabin leaving a slug-like trail behind us. He carried his two left brown shoes in one hand and clutched an edge of the blanket with the other.

After he closed the cabin door behind us, I elbowed him out of the way. “Since your girlfriend got us into this mess, I get the first shower.”

“She is not my girlfriend. Besides, it was your friend, Fiona, who started this water circus. I’m coming in with you.”

“The hell you are. You have crocodile drool on you.”

I dropped my muddy clothes and stepped into the teeny shower. The low water pressure created a pathetic dribble over my face. It took all of what little hot water there was to get the crud out of my thick hair. “Hey, didn’t we leave Darcy in an insane asylum in London?” I called to the golem dripping sludge on the floor of our honeymoon suite.

After I dried I checked myself for leeches, prayed I didn’t pick up an internal parasite, and wrapped the wet towel around me.

When I stepped into the bedroom, Roger was sitting on a folded blanket on the corner of the bed fiddling with something in his shoe. Once again those darn shoes. He put them on the floor as I sat next to him.

“What the hell is Darcy doing here?”

He laughed. “Happily I am no longer her keeper. I have no idea how she got here, but I wish I could have recorded you two. What a sight.”

I cleaned a wad of perfumed soap from my ear.

Roger pulled me close forcing my towel to drop. I pulled it back in place. No hanky-panky with countless bacteria multiplying exponentially on his body.

“I can take a hint. My turn for the shower.”

He picked up his left-left shoe and handed it to me. “Don’t let this shoe out of your sight.”

Chapter Eight

Roger peeled off his gunk-caked clothes and stood there, streaked, but attractively naked. Hmm. I might reconsider some hot mud-wrestling.

Why was he so fixated on this shoe? I held it away from my body imagining the army of germs it carried. “I will treasure this wingtip forever,” I said.

I swung out to pat his shoulder.

He ducked. “Stop hitting me. You continuously fail to notice the pedestal I’m on. I’m a respected archaeologist, not a punching bag.”

“It was just a
good job
pat. I wasn’t trying to hurt you,” I said to his naked backside as he stepped into the bathroom leaving the door open.

I tagged after him. “What did you learn from Sir Sydney?”

He fiddled with the pump-it shower.

“The Society has been unable to find Cleopatra’s tomb under the Temple of Taporisis. They think Antony is buried with her. If we can find their graves we will have solved a mystery that has haunted archaeologists for eons.”

The water trickled from the showerhead. Roger banged the pipe in a mini-fit of frustration. “Why are you carrying my shoe?”

“You told me not to let it out of my sight. What happens when we find the tomb?”

“The Society will lock the site for careful exploration. Unless the Egyptian government steps in, which looks like a possibility. Damn this so-called shower.” He hit the showerhead with his fist.

“Nice ass,” I said, patting his butt. “What makes them so sure the graves are at Taporisis?”

“Sydney gave me something that will confirm that we’ve found the grave.”

“Are you going to tell me what that
something
is?”

“When I get out of the shower.”

I strolled back to the bed to await further instructions from Doctor Jolley. His left-left shoe had captured my curiosity.

From where I sat I could see his reflection in the bathroom mirror. He pumped the water into the shower. “All the hot is gone!” he bellyached.

“Man-up,” I said as I perched on the bed, sneakily examining the shoe. The heel didn’t come off so it wasn’t a shoe-phone. Despite the stinkiness, I peeled the lining out of the toe.

Roger pushed the water lever, and eased into the shower, groaning under the cold water.

Ah ha! I found a metal ornament that should have been about five inches in diameter except that it had been cut in half like a zig-zag puzzle piece. It reminded me of a yin-yang design meant to represent male and female. The medallion was sealed in a clear, airtight case. Okay… so maybe a corner was coming loose or maybe not. I slipped my fingernail under the loose edge, and it opened with a soft vacuum-packed swish. The medallion fell into my hand. I touched the surface and could make out the image of an old Roman face.

A thrill like a mini-bolt of electricity crackled through me. I rolled it in my palm feeling lightheaded and woozy. The surface of the amulet grew warmer as I absent-mindedly rubbed it with my thumb. And then for some foggy reason I pressed the metal to my chest. It stung and burned a zig-zag shape on my mini-cleavage. What possessed me to do such a stupid germy thing?

The cat was back nuzzling my ankles. I stretched my legs and saw nothing, but the nuzzle continued. “Hey, cat.”

Roger stepped out of the shower a towel around his waist. “You talking to me?

A wave of horny washed over me. It had been over twenty-four hours. “I might be.” I waggled my right index finger at him and palmed the medallion in my left hand, ducking it behind my back.

He grinned, dropped his towel, leaped into the bed, and drew me to him. It was nice to feel his body lined up with mine, a perfect match in many ways. He kissed my lips, nibbling around the edges and working his way to my neck. I pulled his head up hungry for more kisses. I also didn’t want him to notice that I’d branded myself on my chest.

Roger undid my towel and ran his hands over my stomach sending ripples of desire in all the right places. His fingers were archaeologist-rough, but not so much that I wasn’t getting turned on. With his lips on my breast, his shadow of a beard rubbed my newly acquired tattoo. Then, dammit, he opened his eyes. “What the hell did you do?”

“Me?” I shoved him off and pulled the sheet over me.

He yanked the sheet down. “Shit! How did you manage this?”

I scanned my body avoiding looking at the spot where his finger lodged. “What are you talking about?”

“You burned yourself with the mark of Osiris.”

“You mean this little birthmark? I’ve always had this.”

“You’ve never had that zig-zag lightning bolt before.” He touched the burn mark.

It stung like an acid peel.

“Dammit, Wendy. I can’t leave you out of my sight for two minutes.” He shook his head. “I told you to wait. What part of
when I get out of the shower
didn’t you understand?”

“Don’t be so smart-assy! It fell out of your shoe.”

Roger shot me his
I don’t believe you
look. “The medal was sealed in a cloaking-capsule especially designed for Sir Sydney to prevent detection.”

I didn’t have to use my super-snoop powers to find it so how good could the capsule be?

“This is half of the Antony and Cleopatra lovers’ medallion. It has powerful mojo. You shouldn’t have rubbed it on yourself. Give it up.” He kissed my cheek as he took the medallion from my hand and placed it on the sheet between us.

“It’s only been a legend till now.”

I reached for it. “Did someone just find it?”

“Don’t keep touching it.” He pushed my hand away ignoring my question. “It might be cursed. The image is the god Osiris. He passes final judgment over the dead. Those who pass his test become worthy to enter the Blessed Land.”

My hand flew to my chest. “Did I screw up my road to heaven?”

He shrugged. “Eh… slight detour.”

“So how does this fit in with our search?”

“Legend has it that Antony and Cleopatra each wore half of a pendant with their god-images. The pieces are made of a unique blend of gold with attractive properties. If we find Cleopatra’s half, which bears the image of Isis, this half will be drawn to it and the edges should mate perfectly. When that happens… bingo, we will have proof we are in Cleopatra’s tomb.”

“You didn’t answer my question. Why has Sir Sydney kept it a secret until now?”

“I don’t know how long Sir Sydney has had the medallion. He said it was found in the Mausoleum of Caesar Augustus in Rome.” Roger picked it up, tucked it back in its cloaking-capsule, and wedged it under the lining in his shoe.

“How did the pieces get separated if Antony and Cleopatra were buried in the same tomb?”

Roger shrugged. “Caesar Augustus hated them with a passion. He destroyed their empire at the Battle of Actium but never found their bodies, so he wasn’t able to satisfy his desire to drag their bloody remains through Rome as trophies of war. Somehow he obtained Antony’s piece of the medallion. Possessing it was enough to satisfy Caesar that he had separated the lovers for eternity.”

“So Antony was buried with Cleopatra but without his half of their medallion?”

“Maybe. The Society thinks they were buried together, but they’ve never been able to prove it. If we find their grave we solve a mystery that has haunted archaeologists for ages.”

The thought of being part of such an important historical discovery gave me goosebumps. But then qualms washed over me. The grave had gone undetected for over two thousand years. Did we have the right to expose its secrets? Should the lovers be allowed to rest in peace, undisturbed?

“How does the tampon thingie fit in?”

“There are a number of deep shafts in the Temple at Taporisis. The Egyptian Antiquities Society has used radar on three of them, which appear to be burial shafts. The tampon… I mean the Multi-phasic Unidirectional Density Diviner will locate the real funerary shaft, if it exists. Then if it’s as good a detector as Ozzie claims, it will lead us to Cleopatra’s sarcophagus.”

I scrambled off the bed and dumped my makeup bag on the coverlet. “Let’s see if this thing really works. How do you turn it on?”

“Tug on the string.”

The tampon diviner squealed like worn out brakes.