At the distant sound of a goat’s bleating, Leila’s eyes fluttered open. Golden sunlight streamed through the tent entry, dust dancing in its beam. The open slit allowed in enough light for her to look around and her gaze fell on the indented cushions in the opposite corner where Amina had slept.
With a sigh, Leila sat up and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. A lost tomb filled with gold. A map. A warning. The Ptolemies. The Medjay. It all swirled in her mind. They’d stayed up for hours, talking about the possibilities of finding the tomb, Amina going to med school, Leila adding another huge discovery to her resume… but then Amina had brushed it all off as silly talk.
It wasn’t like Leila could just go running off into the desert to find a tomb, anyway. She had to go home, back to Xander. She should already be en route, not here, letting herself get distracted by old journal pages. That was that, though. Today, she’d get a message to him somehow and be on her way.
She ran a hand through her hair, cringing at the greasy film coating her fingers. Hopefully she didn’t smell as bad as she felt. Once on her feet, she straightened her dress and ducked out of the tent, then took in a deep breath of the crisp air. The sun was still low but the morning was bright and enlivening.
A few yards to the right, Amina sat cross-legged with a rock in her hand, grinding what looked like a handful of herbs on top of a flat stone.
“Good morning,” she said in a sing-song voice as Leila approached.
“You need any help?” Leila sank down next to her onto the rug. She propped herself up on her palms, the coarse fibers of the rug scratching at her skin.
Amina shook her head. “This will only take a minute.”
Leila watched as the woman crushed the herbs, set the rock down, and scraped the pulverized remains into a bowl. She grabbed another handful from a small sack on the rug beside her, then began grinding again. An unfamiliar scent tickled Leila’s nose and she rubbed away a threatening sneeze.
“I have an idea,” Amina said in a low voice, her eyes darting left and right.
Intrigued, Leila leaned forward.
“I’ve been thinking about the map,” Amina went on, the grating of the rock hiding her words. “I want to find the tomb.”
Leila’s pulse quickened. “Really? What about your grandmother’s warning?”
“What about it? Curses aren’t real.”
“How would you get there? What about your brother?”
“I’ve got it all figured out. My idea is this. We go to Saint Catherine. It would be the closest town to the tomb. From there, you can meet up with your family and we can finish translating the map.”
“Saint Catherine. You’re right,” Leila said quickly, then realized she sounded a bit too excited. She wasn’t supposed to get distracted again. Too late for that. “The monastery there is ancient. And it has the oldest working library on the planet. It’s over a thousand years old.”
“You’d like to visit this place?” Amina’s dimples reappeared with a smile.
“Would I like to? I’d love to.” Leila shifted her weight. It would be an amazing experience. But she couldn’t run off on an expedition while Xander had no idea if she was alive. She had to go back to him before anything else. “But I really need to go home.”
“I won’t be able to find the tomb on my own,” Amina said, her eyes pondering the grinding rock in her hand. She tossed it in the air and caught it in her palm. “You’ve translated so much of the document already, it would make sense if you could finish it. I could try to do the rest myself, but I have no idea what I’m doing. You, on the other hand, do know. The journal may still tell us exactly where the tomb is, so we won’t spend years searching the mountains for it.”
“I want to help you. Really. Maybe we could go to Cairo first, then drive to the monastery?”
“We’re closer to Saint Catherine.”
Leila licked her sandy lips. Xander wouldn’t be upset if she ended up there instead of Cairo, but it was roughly a nine-hour drive from the capital to the mountain village.
If she could find some way to get a hold of him now, use a satellite phone, send a letter, or something to let him know she was okay, then she could help Amina. Besides, whoever had tried to kill her would notice if she made it back to Cairo. She would be safer lying low in Saint Catherine until she was reunited with Xander. Then they could catch a flight out of Sharm El-Sheikh back to London and out of harm’s way.
“It might work,” Leila said. “But before I commit to anything, I really need to get in touch with my boyfriend. He has to know where I am.”
“We’ll get a message to him somehow.” Amina patted Leila’s hand. “We’ll ask around in a bit and see if anyone has a phone.”
Leila’s heart thudded happily at the thought. Xander. To hear his voice again. Her throat tightened.
Amina resumed her work, scraping the rest of the herbs into a bowl. She held it out for Leila.
“What is this?” Leila took the bowl and held it under her nose.
The scent was grassy and earthen, like a mowed yard after the rain. The tickling in her nose returned, and she jerked the bowl away from her face.
“Sidr leaves.” Amina grabbed a stick from the ground and pushed herself to her feet. “Mix some of the powder with water and rub it into your skin and hair. It will get nice and foamy.”
Once Leila was on her feet, Amina hobbled toward the tent.
“I have a bucket of water for you,” she went on. “You can wash up with that.”
Leila thanked her and followed, eager to get rid of the grime. Not that she would stay clean for very long out here.
After she had washed up, she sat in the tent, combing out her hair with her fingers. The herbs had helped more than she thought they would. Finally feeling a bit more human, she twisted the damp strands into a braid.
Amina stuck her head into the tent entry and waved. “Ready?”
Was she ever. They spent the rest of the morning going around the camp, asking if anyone had any means of communication. Most Bedouin suggested sending a letter—then asked if they would join them for a cup of coffee.
Leila was a bit sorry for refusing the friendly offers, but she would have been bouncing off the palm trees if she accepted all of them.
When she was certain they had asked everyone, Leila leaned against the trunk of a palm tree and drummed her fingers on her upper arm. No phone. She was completely cut off.
“I’m sorry,” Amina said gently at her side. “A letter isn’t such a bad idea. Or you can wait until we get to Saint—”
“Watch out!”
Out of nowhere, a ball flew at Amina’s head. She screamed and ducked. It swooshed past and bounced harmlessly into the bushes behind them.
Leila turned to see a boy running toward them. A teenager, about fourteen, she guessed.
“Almost got you,” he said as he reached them, grinning.
Amina rolled her eyes and adjusted her headscarf. “Not nice, Karim.”
Karim foraged through the bushes and fished the ball out. “Sorry. It’ll never happen again.”
“Somehow I don’t believe you.” Amina glowered.
Karim shrugged and bounced the ball at his side. He stared at Leila and tilted his head. “Who’s your friend?”
“Leila.” Amina swatted at a fly buzzing near her face. “She’s an archaeologist. Abdullah saved her.”
“Whoa, really?” Karim caught the ball with both hands and his mouth dropped open.
Leila gave him a smile and nodded.
“Do you dig at the pyramids? I’ve seen them once. They’re so huge. Have you found a mummy? Or gold?”
“Well,” Leila started, “actually—”
“Karim,” Amina broke in, “we’re trying to find a phone. Leila needs to call home.”
“A phone?” Karim shrugged. “Like a satellite phone? Those are expensive. Good luck finding one in this camp.”
Amina gave Leila an apologetic glance.
“Tahir Awad arrived last night,” Karim added quietly.
“Are you sure?” Amina knitted her eyebrows together and crossed her arms.
“Yup. It’s him all right. They’re camped on the other side of the oasis.”
“Thank you.”
With that, Karim turned and ran off, the padding of his feet slowly fading.
Leila waited until he was out of earshot to ask. “Who’s Tahir Awad?”
“A smuggler.” Amina grimaced. “If anyone has a phone out here, it’s him.”
She slipped into the bushes and Leila followed. They trudged down a path, palm branches swaying overhead in the breeze and shrubs snagging at their clothing as they passed. The path led them into a clearing, winding its way around a murky, brown pond. A group of camels were tied to posts on the far side, chewing their cud and paying them no heed, their chins held high.
They rounded the pond, then waded through the shrubberies on the other side. Amina stopped at the edge of the foliage and studied the cluster of tents. Leila stopped next to her and followed her gaze until it settled on the mud-splattered jeep parked behind the camp. A jeep. An actual jeep.
“Looks like Karim was right,” Amina whispered, running her fingers along the edge of her headscarf, tucking in stray strands of hair. “It’s him. But I’m not going.”
Leila frowned. “Why not?”
“Abdullah says I’m not allowed to speak to him. Ever.”
Leila chewed on the inside of her cheek for a moment. If this guy was a smuggler like Amina had said, her brother probably had a good reason for that.
“What does he smuggle?”
“Weapons.”
Leila peered over the top of the bushes. The camp was quiet, a few people milling about. All she had to do was find out if he had a phone, make a call if he did, then get out of there.
“All right. You can wait here while I go. I’ll come right back when I’m done.”
“You can’t. Not by yourself.”
“It’s okay. I can handle it. You just watch from here. Then your brother won’t be mad at you.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course. I won’t let anyone mess with me.”
Amina opened her mouth to speak, but before she could protest, Leila pushed through the bushes and walked toward the tents. Curious gazes followed her.
“Tahir Awad?” Leila asked the frowning, weather-worn faces of the three men lingering in front of the first tent. One man silently pointed toward the last tent in the row. She thanked him and continued on, her heart pounding. She already disliked this camp. None of the warmth and homeliness of Amina’s. Maybe she should have insisted on someone coming with her, after all. Who knew what else the guy smuggled besides weapons.
When she reached the end of the row, she stopped in front of an open-faced tent where a mustachioed man sat cross-legged in the shade. A fire crackled in front of him and the metal kettle hanging over the flames steamed angrily. Wooden crates had been stacked up in the tent behind him with blankets tossed over top in a half-hearted attempt to conceal the contents. Leila’s back tensed. A long, black metal tube stuck out of one of the crates.
The man pulled the mouthpiece of a shisha pipe from his lips and slowly blew a white cloud from his nostrils, filling the air with a thick, sweet scent. His fox eyes anchored on Leila and she held back a shudder.
“Well, habibti? How can I help you?”
Leila fought a wince at his use of “sweetheart.” This conversation was already off to the wrong start.
“Sorry to bother you. I was just…” Leila swallowed the shakiness in her voice. “I was just wondering if you have a phone I could use.”
Tahir flashed her a wolfish grin of yellow teeth. “Your accent. Are you American?”
Leila nodded. She should probably forget the whole thing and write a letter. But as creepy as the guy was, she couldn’t just walk away, not when possibly her only chance to speak to Xander was within reach.