Chapter Ten

Two days later, clearing the blocked tunnel was proving to be a difficult task for the overworked crew. Somehow the ancient Egyptians had sealed off the third-level tunnel with one brick wall after another. The delays made Trummel irritable and Imogen restless. Since her arrival, he’d insisted she “take things easy.” He ignored her protests when she said she felt fine to work. He had put her up in one of the nicest tents, across from his, with servants looking after her. She would have been just as happy sleeping on a cot in a storage tent.

If Trummel still had feelings for her, he didn’t show it. There were always other team members present. He remained strictly professional, addressing her as ‘Miss Riley’. She honored the rule he’d once given her, to address him as ‘Dr. Trummel’ around the team, never by his first name. She’d slipped once, calling him ‘Nathan’ at the dinner table. The mistake had earned her a hard look.

Imogen wasn’t certain if the others knew about the affair, but Gosswick knew. He’d seen her leaving Trummel’s tent in the middle of the night on the previous expedition. Gosswick still gave her disapproving looks.

With the third day winding to a close, Imogen was too anxious to sit in her tent and do nothing. She wanted to get her hands dirty. Most of all, she wanted to get her first look inside the tomb.

At dusk, she walked down the hill toward the cave. The setting sun cast long shadows on the ground. The red rock mountain was bathed in hues of orange light. She admired the ancient mud bricks of the two retaining walls that had been dug up. She didn’t see any sign of Trummel or the other archaeologists. They must be inside the tomb. They might get upset if she showed up uninvited, but it seemed worth the risk.

She followed the sandy ramp that descended between the walls for about twenty feet. She passed a few Egyptian workers pushing wheelbarrows of rocks. Their clothes and turbans were covered in grime. At the cave’s entrance stood a burly, blunt-faced guard named Corporal Rex Sykes. He was armed with a submachine gun.

Imogen suddenly felt repulsed as she remembered Sykes from previous expeditions. Last time she’d encountered him was at a hangar in Cairo. She had been doing inventory of the supplies that had arrived by plane. Corporal Sykes had unpacked wooden crates and handed out various guns and ammunition to the other mercenaries.

Sykes had kept ogling her and tried to impress her. “Ey Blondie, ever seen one of these?” He had held up his own submachine gun that reminded her of a gangster’s gun. “This meat chopper is a Finnish Suomi KP/3-1.” He patted its round magazine. “The drum mag holds seventy-one rounds. The gun spits ’em out in rapid fire. Can turn a man into Swiss cheese in seconds. Care to hold it?”

“Thanks, I’ll pass.” She saw up close that the gun’s wooden stock was covered with numerous skulls and spears etched into it. “You decorate that yourself?”

“That’s my number of kills,” Sykes said proudly. “Eight in the Congo. Ten in Sudan. Twenty in Kenya. If you really want to see something nifty, I’ll show you my Kikuyu finger necklace.” He had started to reach into his shirt, but Imogen stopped him, not wanting to see his gruesome battle trophies.

The tall mercenary had made her nervous then and did so now as his gaze watched her approach the cave tomb. When she tried to enter, Sykes stepped in front of her. “No one goes in, Blondie.”

“You’re letting everybody else enter.” She referred to a steady stream of workers who walked in and out of the doorway.

Sykes said, “They’ve got a job to do.”

“So do I. I’m Dr. Trummel’s partner on this dig. And from now on you’ll properly address me as Miss Riley.”

“I don’t care if you’re the queen herself. You aren’t going in without permission.”

The nerve of this soldier. “Maybe I’ll have a word with Captain Gosswick about your rude behavior.”

Sykes’s flint-gray eyes didn’t show an ounce of worry. “I’m only following orders. You want a tour, miss, come back with the boss.”

“I am the boss!”

“Sorry, Miss Riley.” He stood rigid, blocking the entrance.

On previous digs, Imogen had been able to go wherever she pleased. As she stomped up the ramp, she spotted the journalist, Caleb Beckett, leaning against the brick wall. He wore an amused expression as he watched her ascend the ramp.

“What’s so funny?” she asked.

“You behave like a woman used to getting her way.”

“Were you spying?”

Caleb raised a cigarette. “Just having a smoke.”

“I don’t see why we need a guard at the entrance. When my grandfather ran digs, I had full access to the tombs.”

Although she extended no invitation, Caleb walked alongside her toward camp. “There’ve been disappearances,” he said. “A few workers have gone missing in the caves. And one of the storage tents was vandalized. Security clamped down after that. Haven’t you heard?”

“No.” It bothered her that Trummel was keeping things from her.

“The incidents have made everyone anxious. I’m only granted access when Dr. Trummel takes me in for a photo shoot.” A camera hung from a strap around Caleb’s neck.

“Do you take that thing everywhere?” she asked.

“Even to bed with me.” He chuckled. “Actually, the story I’m doing requires a few scenic shots – dunes, camels, the mountain. Dawn and dusk provide the best light. Among photographers, it’s called God’s light.”

Ahead, the sun was sinking below the horizon. It looked like a shimmering golden ball. He stopped abruptly. “Whoa, stay right there.”

“What is it?”

“The light on your face. It’s perfect.” Caleb touched her cheek to brush something from it. “Don’t move.” He sighted into his Rolleiflex and snapped a photo. “Turn your head just slightly to the right. That’s it.”

“Do I smile?”

“No, I don’t care for forced expressions.”

Imogen was still tense from her ordeal with the guard, and the wind was strong. She could barely keep her hair off her face. Finally she gave up and let the wind take it.

Caleb studied her through the lens. “Yes, just like that.” He raised the camera. “I never miss the chance to capture beauty.”

The compliment made her smile, just a little.

He snapped a picture. “I’m referring to the sunset, of course.” He winked.

Caught off guard by his remark, a small laugh escaped her.

Caleb snapped another picture. “There’s what I was hoping to see.”

“Imogen!” Trummel crested a dune and hurried toward them, his boots kicking up sand. “There you are. I’ve been looking all over for you.” He eyed Caleb. “What are you two doing out here?”

“Miss Riley was graciously posing for the magazine,” Caleb said.

“I see,” Trummel said. “Well, I need to steal her away. Dinner is served in the mess tent, and Miss Riley and I have business to discuss.”

“Would you care to join us, Mr. Beckett?” Imogen asked.

“I’m sure he’s got some film to develop,” Trummel said.

“Yes,” Caleb said. “I’ll catch up with you later.”