The Pyramid of Doom_A Novel Page 5

  “Funny, I didn’t realize the IHA was a business.” She opened the brochure, seeing a picture of Logan Berkeley posing in a heroic stance with the pyramids behind him. “And you put Logan in charge?”

  “Logan was the best candidate for the job.”

  “Logan’s a self-promoting egotist. What about Kal Ahmet, or William Schofield? They’ve both got far more experience.”

  “They were on the short list, if you must know,” said Rothschild coldly. “But Logan was my personal choice. His presentation impressed me the most.”

  You mean he kissed your ass the most, thought Nina, but she kept it to herself. “And was Logan okay with totally perverting the principles of archaeology? Was that part of his presentation?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean rushing everything and throwing out any notion of diligent scientific practice so the network can get big ratings during sweeps week.”

  “You are the last person to lecture anyone about ‘diligent scientific practice,’ Nina,” snapped Rothschild. “Your utter disregard for anything even approaching proper procedure is one of the main reasons why you were fired, if you remember!”

  “This isn’t about me,” said Nina, the simmering rising toward a boil. She waved the brochure. “It’s about the IHA selling out. It was established to protect these kinds of finds, not exploit them!”

  “Ah, now I see why you’re here,” Rothschild said, a sneering smile spreading on her thin lips. “Some last desperate attempt at self-justification, is that it? You want to beat your fists against the temple walls of your oppressors so you can convince yourself that you’re right and everyone else is wrong?” She stood, hands spread on the desk as she leaned forward. “Get over yourself! Contrary to what you may think, you were not the indispensable heart of the IHA—the organization runs perfectly well without you. In fact, it’s better without you. Do you know how many employees have died since you left? None!”

  Nina drew in a sharp breath. “That was low, Maureen,” she said, tight-mouthed.

  For a moment, Rothschild’s expression suggested that even she thought she had gone too far. But the moment quickly passed. “You’ve said what you came here to say, Nina. I think it would be best for everyone if you left now. And it would probably also be for the best if you didn’t come back.”

  Nina rose, clenching her fists to stop Rothschild from seeing that her hands were trembling with anger. “What you’re doing in Egypt is an embarrassment to the archaeological profession, and you know it.”

  “We both know who the real embarrassment to the profession is,” Rothschild countered. Nina gave her a hateful look, threw open the door, and left the office.

  There was a park north of the United Nations; Nina strode around it, her anger barely lessened even twenty minutes later. In some perverse way, part of her actually wanted to keep stoking it—once it was gone, all she would be left with was misery, deeper than ever.

  But she knew she couldn’t keep it burning indefinitely.

  Taking a long, slow breath, she took out her phone and called Eddie. To her surprise, his cell was switched off, rather than on voice mail. Odd. Eddie never switched off his phone.

  Even that brief distraction took the edge off her anger, depression roiling back in like a wall of fog. Not in the mood to do anything but go home, she headed west along 42nd Street to the subway station at Grand Central. About halfway there, her phone rang. Thinking it was Eddie, she snapped it up, only to see an unfamiliar local number on the screen. She composed herself, then answered.

  “Is that Nina?” said a Jersey-accented voice.

  “Yes?”

  “It’s Charlie, Charlie Brooks.” Eddie’s boss.

  “Oh hi,” she said. “How are you?”

  “Fine, thanks. Listen, I’ve been trying to get ahold of Eddie, but his phone’s off. Is he with you? I need to talk to him about a new client.”

  “No. I’ve been trying to call him myself.”

  “Really? Huh. Not like him to be out of contact when he’s not working.”

  “Isn’t he with Grant Thorn?”

  “Nah, not till later. Well, if you talk to him in the next hour or so tell him I called, else I’ll pass it on to one of my other guys.”

  “I’ll tell him.” She disconnected. If Eddie wasn’t working, then what was he doing, and why was his phone switched off?

  More to the point … why had he told her he would be with Grant Thorn all day?

  In her current frame of mind, she couldn’t help constructing scenarios. None of them was good. Was he doing something he didn’t want her to know about? The past months had not been ideal for their relationship. What if he was seeing someone else?

  She shook her head, refusing to countenance it. Eddie wouldn’t do that to her.

  Would he?

  She reached Grand Central and rode the subway back to Queens, taking the gloomy walk south to Blissville. Along the way, her phone chimed—not a call, but a text message. Eddie. Terse as ever.

  Sorry I missed call, in middle of something. Talk later. How did UN go? Eddie x

  “Super fine,” Nina sighed.

  The black Cadillac limousine cruised through Midtown Manhattan. “Almost there, Mr. Thorn,” said the driver.

  “Good, cool,” said Grant. He was wearing the formal suit he had bought the day before. He was also on edge, a far cry from his usual cocky self as he fingered his collar.

  “You okay?” Eddie asked.

  “Yeah, yeah, fine. Just, you know, this is a big thing. Even bigger than winning the People’s Choice Award.”

  Eddie kept his opinions on that to himself as they arrived at their destination. The Osirian Temple’s New York “church” was actually an unimposing East Midtown building with a neon sign over its entrance, an Egyptian-style eye superimposed over a triangle, which he assumed was meant to be a pyramid. But while the building was nothing noteworthy, the crowd outside resembled the crush surrounding the red carpet on Oscar night.

  “Lot of people,” he said. Several men in tailored dark green blazers cleared a space so the Cadillac could pull over.

  “Fast-growing religion, man. I mean, who doesn’t want to live forever?”

  “Depends who you’re living with.” The limo stopped. “You want me to wait with the car?”

  “No, come in with me, check it out. Maybe you’ll even want to join up.”

  To his credit, Eddie managed to hold in a sarcastic comment as he got out of the limo and opened the door for Grant. The crowd responded enthusiastically as the star emerged.

  “Hi, everyone, hi! Great to see you,” said Grant, turning on the megawatt smile that had helped take him to ten million dollars a movie. The men in green acted as a human cordon as he headed for the entrance, shaking hands and posing for photos. As the limo pulled away, Eddie’s experienced eyes swept the crowd for any hint of threat, but everyone seemed to be behaving. All the same, he subtly increased his pace, shepherding Grant toward the door.

  It soon turned out, though, that the movie star wasn’t the afternoon’s top attraction. More men emerged from the building, a green-blazered phalanx driving through the crowd like a plow to clear a path across the sidewalk. Someone cried “It’s Osir!”—and as one the throng turned to watch a longer limo arrive.

  If Grant had been greeted with enthusiasm, this was nearer to hysteria. To Eddie’s amusement, a hand that had been outstretched to Grant was snatched away just as he reached for it, leaving the actor with a brief expression of startled hurt. The minders flanked the limo’s door.

  Khalid Osir climbed out.

  Even at first glance, Eddie could tell that Osir had that special quality possessed by only a lucky few—a natural, powerful charisma, evident in the easy confidence with which he moved and the irrepressible sparkle in his eyes. Eddie guessed him to be in his mid-forties, though he somehow got the feeling that Osir was older than he appeared. And while Grant was a movie star, a man of the moment who had made it wit
h the help of good looks, modest talent, and a great agent, Osir looked more like a movie legend, someone who would outshine younger rivals generation after generation. He glanced at his client. Grant’s face was a mix of awe and a hint of jealousy.

  “Hello, my friends!” the cult leader boomed over the cheering. “I’m so happy to see so many of you here today. May the light of the sun god Ra bless you all!”

  “May the spirit of Osiris protect and strengthen you!” the crowd chanted in reply. Even Grant joined in, though he accidentally transposed protect and strengthen. Osir beamed and made his way to the building, greeting his followers along the way. Eddie couldn’t help noticing that attractive women got the lion’s share of his attention.

  A second man had meanwhile stepped out of the limo, practically unnoticed by the crowd—though his scowl immediately stood out among the smiles. That and the third man who followed him set off warning bells at the back of Eddie’s mind. It was obvious from his features that the second man was closely related to Osir—a brother?—but it was equally plain that his sibling had been more favorably blessed both by the genetic lottery and by life itself; this man’s harder, thinner face was scarred by a major burn across his right cheek. His wiry, greasy-haired companion in the snakeskin jacket, meanwhile, looked like a redneck, but from his alert stance and attitude Eddie could instantly tell he was ex-military.

  Osir reached the door to find Grant waiting for him. “Ah, Mr. Thorn!” he said, clasping the actor’s hand and shaking it firmly. Cameras flashed in the crowd; the two men instinctively turned to face them with their widest smiles. “It’s so good to finally meet you.”

  “Same here, Mr. Osir,” said Grant.

  “Call me Khalid, please. I feel like I know you already from your movies.”

  Grant grinned, pleased. “Really? Cool! I’ve tried to watch all of yours, but they’re kind of hard to get on Netflix. I saw Osiris and Set, though. You were awesome in that.”

  Osir waved a hand modestly. “You must visit the Osirian Temple’s headquarters in Switzerland, and I will show you the others. Come whenever you like; my door is always open. But acting is behind me now—I have a new calling. And I am so very pleased that you”—he turned to address the crowd—“that all of you have chosen to follow me on this incredible journey. There are already tens of thousands of us, all around the world, and our numbers will grow as more discover that only through the teachings of Osiris can true immortality be found. We shall all live forever!” He raised his hands, the crowd cheering again.

  His brother impatiently gave an order, and the minders pushed the crowd back. One opened the door, and with another wave Osir went inside with his companions, the man in snakeskin giving Eddie a disdainful look as he passed.

  Grant began to step through the door, but hesitated when he realized Eddie wasn’t following. “What’s up?”

  “It’s not really my kind of thing. You go in; I’ll wait for you.”

  “No, come on, man. You listen to what he’s got to say—it’ll change your life. You’ll be able to reverse your aging, look like you’re in your thirties again.”

  “I am in my thirties,” Eddie told him frostily.

  “Really? Whoa. No offense, dude. You just look kinda … battered.” Realizing his words weren’t thawing his bodyguard, Grant changed his mind. “Okay, you … wait for me. Yeah.”

  “Have fun, Mr. Thorn,” Eddie said as Grant went inside. He shook his head, grinning faintly. His employer was living proof that some people would believe anything.

  Still, at least the Osirian Temple appeared to be the harmless kind of crank cult.

  Several hours later, Eddie returned home. “So how did it go at the UN?” he asked as he entered the apartment—and saw that today’s wine bottle was fully empty. “Oh.”

  “It was absolutely goddamn horrible,” said Nina, scowling. She had only felt up to calling Hogarth a few hours earlier, and the act of relating the argument had made her angry all over again. “I didn’t accomplish anything at all, and Maureen was an utter bitch who ended up making me feel this big.” She waved an unsteady hand at him, holding her thumb and forefinger less than an inch apart. “I shouldn’t have gone. I wouldn’t have gone if you hadn’t forced me.”

  “I didn’t force you,” Eddie objected.

  “Yeah, you did! You might as well have carried me there in a sack!”

  He shook his head. “Jesus! Rothschild’s the one who pissed you off, so why’re you having a go at me?”

  “Because you’re here!” she cried. “For a change.”

  “Oh for Christ’s sake,” Eddie sighed. “Not this again. I was working! I offered to try to work something out with Charlie yesterday, and you told me not to.”

  The mention of Charlie reminded Nina of something. “Where were you this afternoon? I tried calling you, but your phone was turned off.”

  “Probably ’cause I was working. I’m not supposed to take personal calls when I’m on the clock. You know that.”

  “You weren’t when I called you, though. Charlie phoned me—he couldn’t get hold of you and asked if I knew where you were.”

  He hesitated, uneasy. “What time was this?”

  “After I left the UN. About half past two.”

  “Oh, right. Yeah, I was with Grant Thorn.”

  “That’s funny,” said Nina, amusement far from her face. “Charlie told me you weren’t working until later.”

  The sound of wheels spinning in his head was almost audible. “That’s ’cause … I was doing Grant a favor. Off the books.”

  “What sort of favor?”

  “He wanted me to pick him up some orange juice.” Seeing her dubious look, he went on: “Seriously! Lazy sod couldn’t be bothered to walk a block to get it himself.”

  “I thought you had a policy about not doing that sort of thing. Y’know, the whole bodyguard-not-butler principle.”

  “Well, when he offers to pay me an extra five hundred bucks it’s more like a guideline.”

  “He paid you five hundred dollars to get orange juice?”

  Eddie retrieved yesterday’s wad of notes from his jacket and tossed it onto the table. “See? Bloke really does have more money than sense.”

  Nina regarded the money suspiciously. She knew Eddie more than well enough to be aware that maintaining a poker face was not one of his talents, and he seemed to be inwardly congratulating himself on his quick thinking. Maybe Grant Thorn really had been absurdly generous, but there was more to the story. “So what were you doing for the rest of the day? It doesn’t take that long to buy orange juice.”

  “You didn’t see the queue,” he said, with a half laugh that faded under Nina’s gaze. “Yeah, I was doing something else too. I … met up with a friend.”

  Her gaze intensified. “A female friend?”

  “A cop friend.”

  To his relief, Nina didn’t point out that it was possible to be both female and a cop. Instead, she said, “I didn’t know you had any cop friends.”

  “Sorry, I didn’t know I was supposed to give you a complete list of all my mates everywhere in the world. I’ve got loads of friends.”

  “Unlike me, you mean?”

  “Where did that bloody come from? I never said you don’t have any friends.”

  “Well, that’s because I do have ’em. I’ve got …” She considered it, face falling during the seconds it took her to finish the sentence. “There’s Piper.”

  “Who moved to San Francisco.”

  “Matt! Matt Trulli’s a friend.”

  “Who you haven’t spoken to for months.”

  “He’s still a friend! And there’s Lola!” Nina added with a triumphant jab of her hand. “Lola’s a friend. And I’m having dinner with her tomorrow, actually. So, yeah, I’ve got friends.”

  “I never said you didn’t! Why’re you getting all defensive about it?”

  “Because … because that’s something else that’s been getting me down,” she admitted. “Al
most all of my friends are archaeologists or historians. And ever since I got screwed over by the media, they’ve been treating me like I’m radioactive.”

  “Then maybe they weren’t really friends to begin with,” Eddie said. “So why’d you instantly assume I was seeing a woman friend today? What, you—ha!—think I’m having an affair?”

  “No, not really, just …” She sagged. “It would have been the perfect capper to a really horrible day. The thought came to me, and it just wouldn’t go away. You’re out at all hours, and I … well, I haven’t exactly been the best company recently. And we haven’t, y’know, had sex for a while.”

  “Five days is ‘a while’?”

  “We only just got married—we’re supposed to be having sex every five minutes!” She flopped back on the couch. “God. After all the horrible crap that happened to us, I thought that at least our getting married would be one perfect thing that would see us through it. But …”

  “You’re not having second thoughts, are you?” Eddie asked, concerned.

  “No, God, no. It’s just … it hasn’t been what I thought it would. What I hoped it would.”

  “Marriage’s like life, I suppose. Things always change, and you’ve got to adapt with ’em. There’s a military saying—dunno who said it, Napoleon or someone—‘No plan survives contact with the enemy.’ ”

  “It was Field-Marshal Helmuth von Moltke,” corrected Nina, earning herself a double take from her husband. “But if marriage was the plan, who’s the enemy?”

  “Everyone and everything outside this room.”

  “I hate this room.”

  “Okay, off this couch.”

  “Not a big fan of the couch, either.” They both managed halfhearted laughs.

  “Well, look,” said Eddie, “I’m not seeing anyone else, okay? I know what it’s like to be on the other end of that from when I was married to Sophia. So don’t worry about it. Or anything else, either. Have a nice girlie day out with Lola tomorrow, and take your mind off everything.” He gestured at the wad of money. “If Grant asks me to pick up any more orange juice for him, maybe we’ll even be able to afford a holiday.”