“Earth to Leila,” Emma’s voice sang out.
Leila tore her eyes from the vase. She had to stay focused or they weren’t going to get anywhere near to finished that day. They weren’t to touch, let alone move anything until they were done with the labeling and photos. With little room to move and countless artifacts to number, the process had already taken up a good part of the morning.
Journalists, photographers, and cameramen waited eagerly outside the tomb for the first items to be brought out. It was Soliman’s preference, as well as the entire team’s, that they take their time with the artifacts to ensure nothing went overlooked.
By lunchtime, they had everything at the front of the piles photographed and numbered. The room had been sorted into sections. Finally, they were given the go-ahead to begin removing the first artifact.
Wearing latex gloves, Leila and Emma gently picked up a chair, feather-light as it had become frail with decay, and carried it away from the pile. The first item to be touched in three thousand years. The chair was made of solid Egyptian ebony wood—except for the seat, which was made of woven grasses. It wasn’t the most beautiful piece, but the removal of its bulk would give them more room to work. They gently placed it on a stretcher and draped a white cotton sheet on top to protect it from the sand and sunlight.
Leila followed Emma and Hamza out of the tomb as they carried the stretcher, careful not to bump into anything or stumble. She had to smile at the disappointment all over the reporters’ faces when the archaeologists gave them a peek at the backless wooden chair and not the heaps of precious metals and gems they were expecting. But for Egypt and the Egyptologists, every artifact was invaluable, even if it wasn’t glistening with jewels or gold.
After helping to secure the chair in the Jeep, Leila ducked into the tent, peeling off her gloves as she went. To her surprise, Neal stood behind the computer monitors with Karl. Karl pointed at one monitor, his finger clicking away at the mouse as he described some of the pictures they had taken of the opening yesterday.
Neal appeared even more out of place than usual in his white dress shirt and black tie—obviously, he wasn’t here to help dig this time. Eager to hear any news of the investigation, she crossed the tent.
“Hey, Neal. Anything new?” Leila asked, her eyes flicking toward Karl. He continued to stare at the monitor as if he hadn’t heard anything.
“Yeah, a few things,” Neal said. He excused himself from Karl and led her toward the front of the tent.
“It’s Mark now, by the way. My cover was blown.” He grinned.
“Oh.” Leila slapped her forehead. “I completely forgot.”
“Looks like you all are keeping busy, though.” Mark lifted the flap to allow her to exit the tent first. “Been following it all on the news.”
“Yeah, it’s been surreal.” Leila shook her head. It had yet to sink in for herself. Ignoring the curious glances of the reporters, they skirted around the crowd and headed toward the parking lot.
“So, what did you find out?” Leila asked when they were well out of earshot.
“Well,” Mark said, lowering his voice, “Amir Al-Rashid has come out of hiding. He checked into a hospital in Cairo this morning. Apparently, he lost his eye in a ‘polo accident.’” He lifted an eyebrow knowingly.
“A polo accident?” Leila scoffed.
“That’s his story. He is indeed an active polo player. So we’re keeping an eye on him and should make the arrest by this evening. He’s being treated for infection, so it sounds more like an outpatient ordeal. If not, we’ll handcuff him to his hospital bed.”
“As long as he’s off the streets.” A lightness filled her chest. She was safe. She only had to make sure the tomb would be as well. Amir could send thugs to ransack it for him.
“Anything new about the villa and the artifacts?” she asked, hoping Mark might mention her mother.
Mark shook his head, slipping his hands into his pockets. “Authorities were granted entry without trouble. They searched the place top to bottom but didn’t find any artifacts. Not even in the basement room you described. If he had any, he got them cleaned out quickly.”
Leila’s heart sank. Had Amir gone through with his promise to destroy them? So much history, gone.
Mark went on, unaware of Leila’s inner turmoil. “Most people in the town had no idea who was living there. It can sometimes be difficult to identify people in rural desert places, though. And if your mother could, I’m sure she would come forward. I think we can assume something, or someone, is preventing her.”
Frowning, Leila kicked at a loose rock in the middle of the path. “Well, he can’t hide her forever.”
With sympathy in his eyes, Mark shook his head. “I don’t think so, either.” He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “We’ll find her, don’t worry. I have a meeting with Faris Al-Rashid later this week. Hopefully he’ll be cooperative.” He dropped his hand and returned it to his pocket. “I’ll keep in touch. Just wanted to come by and see how things are going. I’m kind of bummed to be missing out on all the action now. But work comes first.”
“Thanks, Neal. I mean, Mark,” Leila said with a wave as he continued toward the parking lot. She headed back to the tent, a part of her wishing she could be at the meeting. Then she could tell Amir’s father exactly what she thought of him and his son.
The tent soon filled with pots, chairs, vases, ottomans, and a statue of alabaster to be carefully packed into crates for transport to the lab. Shadows had already grown long by the time they finished loading the truck. Soliman climbed into the driver’s seat with Hamza and Karl crouching in the back to keep the crates steady and to help unload them at the lab. Leila lingered outside the tent, hands on hips, as the truck slowly drove off. She cringed each time it teetered back and forth as it rolled over the uneven ground.
Her phone pinged. She opened the text from Mark and gasped. Amir was in custody. With a triumphant smile, she returned inside the tent to get her things. The day couldn’t have ended any better.
• • •
One week, then two passed since the opening of the tomb. To Leila’s disappointment one morning, she was assigned to the lab. It had filled up rapidly with the artifacts and now someone needed to start to catalog the items so they could be loaded into another truck and transported to the Cairo Museum for further analysis. She had spent the last three days inside the tomb, so she supposed it would be fun to closely examine the antiquities they had collected so far.
Leila sat in front of the computer, her fingers flying over the keyboard, typing a detailed description of a pair of beaded sandals sitting on top of an ottoman inside the tomb. Before removing the ancient footwear from the tomb, they had sprayed a special adhesive over them to keep the delicate beadwork in place. Over time, the thread that had sewn the beads onto the leather had disintegrated, but the beads had stayed in place. Although they were practically glued onto the hide by gravity after sitting in place for thousands of years, it had been too fragile to move without risking damage to the intricate pattern.
After a passing glance over the information she had written, Leila hit the print button then nestled the sandals back into their box and sealed it. The printing mechanism began to dance back and forth across a fresh sheet of paper when the door swung open and Xander strode in, carrying a box in both arms.
This is going to be interesting. Pleased, Leila lowered her head as she trimmed off the edges of the paper, her face growing warm.
“You have lab today too?” Xander asked as he settled into a chair across from her. He picked a few pottery shards out of the box.
“Yep. Two others will be joining me, I think,” Leila said, dropping the scissors on the table with a clatter. She slipped the paper into a plastic pocket on the box’s lid. Her trimming job looked like a kindergartner’s, but the details were on there and visible. Good enough.
“What have you got there? Something more interesting than broken pottery, I imagine.”
She smiled. There was something different about him today. Studying him, she placed the lid on the box. “Sandals.”
“Excellent.” He slid into his chair, his movements smooth, his shoulders relaxed. A slight smile lingered over his lips, though his eyes remained distant, like there was some pleasant thought churning in his brain that he was content to keep to himself.
Although she was curious, she picked up her box and retreated into the storage room. Once inside, she let out a long puff of air. Her heart raced as if she’d run a marathon. She had a lot of work to do, but her mind and heart could only focus on him. She had to get a grip.
He’s moved on. You’ve moved on. Stop the crazy and get to work.
