Black robes swished with each step. The monk walked in front of Leila, leading her out of the church, then down the cobblestones, heading for one of the buildings built into the fortress wall.
“What did you say your name was?” the monk asked.
“Leila Sterling. I’m currently working with Dr. Adel Soliman in Saqqara.” They strolled under one of the wooden walkways attached to the wall, and the monk opened a door, the hinges screeching as it swung.
“Ah yes. I believe I have heard of Dr. Soliman.” He waved for her to enter.
She stepped into a foyer, the walls also plain white, this time with a narrow wooden shelf that wrapped all the way around the room.
“Please wait here one moment.” The monk pulled the door shut using both hands. “I will see if Father Marcus is available to assist you further.”
Leila nodded and wandered around the hall, studying the pictures on the shelving. Most of them depicted scenes from the story of Moses, the colors faded and browned as if they had been propped there and ignored since the Middle Ages.
Time seemed to slow down as she waited. A faint aroma of freshly baked bread drifted into the foyer and tortured her senses, reminding her she couldn’t even remember when her last meal was. To distract herself, she walked in slow circles around the room’s perimeter. She was on her fifth turn when two sets of footsteps clicked on the mosaic tiles. She turned to see the monk had been joined by another in identical black robes and brimless black cap, except his hair and beard were all white and a pair of glasses sat on the bridge of his nose.
“This is Father Marcus,” the monk said, gesturing to the newcomer. “He is one of our librarians and would gladly take a look at your documents.”
“Thank you,” she said with a smile as the monk departed, leaving her with Father Marcus. Once again she unfolded the papers, her hunger pains momentarily forgotten. “I’m sorry I couldn’t call ahead and make an appointment. I don’t normally do this.”
Father Marcus nodded. “Brother Justus tells me you need help translating a document?”
He pushed his glasses to the top of his nose as he examined the pages. After a moment, he turned and waved for her to follow.
“Tell me what you know about this so far.”
As they walked down a hallway, she recounted the origin of the document, leaving out the gritty details of its journey. And the fact she wasn’t supposed to have it. Father Marcus simply listened and nodded, not once taking his eyes off the hieroglyphics.
She was finished with her story by the time they reached a door which stood open to a wooden staircase leading downward. Father Marcus started down the stairs without comment, the wood creaking under each step.
“This is only one of the rooms,” he called up to her.
She started to follow, but jolted to a stop at the top of the stairs with a soft gasp. The bookshelves in the library spanned over two floors with a wooden walkway for access to the top. Glass cases were placed throughout the room, protecting the more fragile books and manuscripts. She took in a deep breath through her nose, basking in the musky scent of ancient books.
“The first record of manuscripts on this location is from the fourth century, when there was only a small chapel,” Father Marcus explained as she slowly descended the steps after him. “The monastery wasn’t constructed until the mid-sixth century. By the seventh century, the monastery was producing manuscripts of its own. We have over three thousand documents in eleven different languages. And many in languages still unknown.”
Leila stopped in front of one of the glass cases and studied the gigantic book inside. It was at least two feet long and another foot thick. It lay open to a page with gilded medieval lettering that sparkled under the lights.
“We are working on digitalizing as many parchments and papyri as possible,” Father Marcus went on, placing the papers on a table. “It is tedious work, but the best way to preserve them. Despite our care, they will continue to deteriorate over time. The more we can scan, the better. The computers also help us decipher more of the texts. Sometimes they are too hard to read with the naked eye, but computers can pick up more than we knew was there.”
Leila’s mouth hung open as she listened. What a fascinating job this would be. Wordlessly, she wandered toward the table, unable to tear her gaze away from the overflowing bookshelves. She caught herself before she walked straight into a cart stacked full of what looked like more modern encyclopedias.
She glanced up at Father Marcus sheepishly, but he simply pulled out a chair at the table, amusement twinkling in his eyes. “I will bring you some material. Then we can get to work on your text.”
Night had fallen over Saint Catherine Town. He stepped out of a fast-food shop and strolled down the street paved in slush. Keeping his left shoulder as stiff as possible, he pulled a city map from his pocket with his right hand.
Despite his slow movements, white hot-pain shot through his shoulder. He grimaced involuntarily as the sensation throbbed in his arm, warming his blood, feeding his hate.
The gunshot wound had rendered him nearly useless. He was able to stumble to his jeep and slow the bleeding with makeshift bandages. Drenched in a hot sweat, he’d managed to drive the rest of the way to Saint Catherine, where his upper arm was stitched up.
His wound was deep—he was lucky the bullet had missed the bone. The nurses were curious, the doctor pressed him for an explanation, but with a slip of some cash, the questions stopped. Now he could refocus.
If I were an archaeologist in Saint Catherine, where would I go?
For a moment, he contemplated the symbol for the police station on the city map. He hadn’t had any luck with his innocent enquiry there. His gaze darted to the square-shaped mark, indicating the location of the ancient monastery. The perfect hideout.
He folded up the map and followed the signs. The more he walked, the more his arm ached. He wouldn’t take the painkillers. Not yet. The more painful it was, the more it drove him to finish what he came here to do.
The parking lot was empty, all tourists had gone. The gates had been shut, now carefully watched by security.
Two large boulders on the far side of the parking lot provided a good place to observe the comings and goings of the monastery while keeping him hidden. He dropped his backpack on the ground and crouched in his new hiding place, ready to wait all night if he had to. Leila couldn’t stay in there forever. If she was inside, she’d have to come out eventually. And when she did, it would be time to begin his games.
Occasionally the tap of footsteps or the creak of a door drifted down the stairs. The church bells chimed faintly every half-hour. Otherwise, the only sound in the library was the scratching of Leila’s pen. Stacks of books rose around her, notes scattered on the floor. On the table in front of her lay a blocky cell phone with a green screen and black text.
Leila had tried getting a hold of Xander, but so far, her calls kept going straight to voicemail. It was a bit ridiculous, but she was set on him being the first one she contacted. Now disappointment prickled in her chest. She’d been so certain she’d have gotten a hold of him by now. So she concentrated on her task, only taking one break in the last two hours. Father Marcus had insisted on coffee and, to her relief, it had also included a small meal of bread and fruit.
She leaned back in her chair and glanced over the disarray before her, tapping her pen to her chin. She hadn’t done a half-bad job, translating the hieroglyphics from memory in Amina’s tent. It had just needed a few corrections, an interpretation of the rest of the symbols, and comprehensible sentences. The Greek translation came along more slowly but after an hour and some help from Father Marcus, she had a perfectly coherent text.
The monk entered the library behind her, holding a large sheet of paper. He slid a few books out of the way and spread the sheet on the table.
“Here is the best topographical map of the mountain range I could find down here.” He made a grating sniff to clear his nasal passages. “It doesn’t show the roads or paths, but we can at least mark the location.”
Leila set down her pen and joined him. With her notes in her hand, she examined the squiggly contour lines on the crinkled paper. After a quick check of the side markings for latitude and longitude, she pointed to one of the peaks. “That one.”
Father Marcus tugged at his beard for a moment, then nodded. He took out a pen from the depths of his robes and drew a bold “X” in red ink.
“There it is,” he said with awe in his voice. He lifted the map from the table and held it before his face. “At last. We’ve got it.”
Leila’s eyebrows twitched as she watched him stare at the map with wide eyes. Why was he acting like they’d found the Holy Grail? But then the treasure, the Medjay warning… Her stomach did a flip. She hoped she hadn’t just made a huge mistake.
He gave his head a little shake. “That would be a ten-mile hike from here,” he explained, sounding back to normal. “The terrain is difficult to navigate, as you should know. In this weather, it would be easy to slip, which could be deadly. But that would be the least of your concerns. The weather is not the only danger.”
Did he actually think she wanted to go to the tomb? She was about to reassure him she wasn’t planning on it, but stopped. That last comment.
She knitted her forehead together. “What other danger?”
Father Marcus watched her steadily, his expression solemn. “You read the letter.”
She glanced down at the journal pages, half-hidden beneath her other notes on the table. He couldn’t be serious. Amina had said her grandmother hid the letter out of fear, but Amina herself had seen nothing to worry about.
“You mean the Medjay warning?” A smile tugged at her cracked lips, which stung as they stretched. “That was written eighty years ago. Why? Do you think it’s real?”
“It’s not something to take lightly.”
Confusion fluttered in her chest. Her smile faded. “Are you saying these guys exist?”
This time Father Marcus looked away and busied himself with folding up the map. “I have never met one.”
“But you think they could be out there?”
He slipped the map under his arm. “I, personally, would not risk it.”
Why wouldn’t he directly answer the question? He believed it and didn’t want to admit it, or was there something else? Not that it mattered to her at this point.
“I wasn’t planning on going,” she said, then decided it was time for a change of subject. She was done with this Medjay treasure hunt. It was time to find Xander. She let out a soft sigh. “I need to go home.”
“Indeed. From the sound of it, you’ve been through quite an ordeal. Yes, yes, you must be eager to go home. Why don’t you try calling again? If no one answers, do let me know. We can help make arrangements to get you back as quickly as possible.” He turned and shuffled off with the map, his steps a bit faster than usual.
She watched him retreat into his office. What was that all about? A nagging voice told her to go after him and take the map, but Xander was more important. She picked up the phone, her heart pounding frantically as she dialed Xander’s number again. Her fingers shook so much she had to type it twice. Once successful, she hit call.
Please pick up. Nothing. Straight to voicemail. And that was that. She would have to try someone else. She rubbed her forehead, trying to remember Emma’s number. Either it ended with a four-eight or an eight-four. She hit the buttons again, not caring if she was dialing the right ones. If this number didn’t work, she’d try the other combination. The phone rang. She held her breath until it clicked.
“Buonasera.”
“Emma?”
Silence followed.
“Emma, please, it’s me.”
“Mamma mia. Xander! Get over here. You won’t believe this.”
Emma was talking, no, screaming at Xander. Leila’s heart soared and her vision blurred. A chorus of confusion crackled on the phone until finally, loud and clear, rumbled that deep, soothing voice.
“Leila?”
She thought her heart was going to burst at the sound. He was really there. He had gone silent, waiting for a response, but she could still hear his crackly breaths.
“Xander?”
The silence dragged on for a moment, long enough for her to suspect he’d already hung up.
“Hello?”
“Leila?”
“It’s me.”
“I—” He fell silent again.
Her throat ached. Xander being at a loss for words was something she’d never experienced.
Somehow she managed to rasp out, “Xander, I’m at the Saint Catherine Monastery.”
It took a few moments for him to finally answer. “I’m at the police station. In Saint Catherine. I can be at the monastery in ten minutes.”
It was too good to be true. He was here. In ten minutes, she’d finally be home. “So you got my message?”
“What? You sent a message?”
Leila cringed. It would figure that hadn’t worked out. But what did it matter? Somehow he’d figured it out anyway. “Yes, but who cares? You’re here. I’m here.”
“I lost my phone. I’ll explain later. I’m on my way. Is there anything you need that I should bring with me?”
“Um. I need a shower. And a toothbrush. And Thanksgiving dinner.”
“Right. I’ll see what I can do.”
She bit down on her lip, tasting blood from the deep cracks as she tried to stop herself from grinning. This was really happening.
“Okay. I’ll wait for you here.”
“Don’t move. Whatever you do. Don’t. Move. Give me ten minutes.”
“I won’t. I love you.”
“Love you too.”
They hung up simultaneously. She leaned back in her seat, staring at the phone that had carried Xander’s voice moments ago. These were going to be the longest ten minutes of her life. She made a final glance around the library, soaking it all in. Hopefully she’d get another chance to come back, for longer, taking her time with the ancient scrolls and manuscripts.
She tore her gaze from the shelves of books and smiled. Xander was coming. She just had to let Father Marcus know she would be picked up, and somehow get the map back. He probably already had his boots on, ready to go to the tomb himself. She reached across the table to grab the journal pages and her notes—a swooshing noise came from behind her. With a loud thwack, the point of a curved blade pierced the table between her fingers.