“Oh, please. You’re not giving them nearly enough credit.”
“See, you can’t even answer that.” With smug lips curled, Karl crossed his arms and lifted his chin.
Leila returned the smile. Challenge accepted. “Just because we can’t figure it out today doesn’t mean they didn’t know what they were doing back then. There are plenty of hypotheses about how they carried the stones. It could have been as simple as wet sand. Wet sand becomes heavy and solid, which means less friction when something, like a sled, travels over it. A dozen men could push or drag two tons of stone much more easily on wet sand.” She could go on all day.
Karl pursed his lips and gazed into the distance, contemplating. Then he shook his head. “Nope. I don’t buy it. Someone’s tried to cover it up, and they’ve done a pretty good job of it. But the evidence is out there. There must be something they missed.”
Leila laughed. “Tell it to Daniken. And next time you’re on the beach, let me know if it’s easier to walk on the wet sand or on the dry sand.”
She couldn’t say if the wet sand idea was true since there were many other theories on the subject, but she was certain the ancient Egyptians were perfectly capable of building their empire without any extraterrestrial help. Despite that, she didn’t think anything she told Karl would convince him otherwise. He had once told her this was the reason he began studying archaeology in the first place. With visions of becoming the host of alien documentaries on TV, nothing could stop him.
With a shake of her head, she picked up her trowel and was about to resume digging when her gaze fell on Neal, the pilot-archaeologist-sponsor. He trudged along the path at the edge of the trench, lugging a bucket of sand in each hand. His face glowed red underneath his grubby fisherman’s hat, and sweat spotted his gray shirt. He stopped at the sifting pile and dumped out the buckets.
Leila cringed, hoping he hadn’t been doing that all morning. She climbed out of the trench and approached him.
“Hey,” she said with a timid wave. “How’s it going?”
Before answering, he took off his hat and used it to wipe off his face.
“Great. Just great,” he muttered. “No mastodon yet, though.”
“You mean… mastabas?”
“Yes. Exactly. Mastabas. The, uh, tomb things.”
A smile flickered over her face. What was this guy doing here? Stand-in executive she could believe, but he didn’t make a convincing Egyptologist like he said he was. The only thing he seemed to know was the pointy end of the shovel went in the dirt. How on earth did someone so green get permission to dig here? Egypt was notoriously strict about who could excavate and who couldn’t. It would almost be cute if he wasn’t causing them even more work. How to tell him without making him mad? Especially since his father’s monetary contributions were the only reason she was able to be hired for the excavation.
Without him, she wouldn’t be here. But then, she had a job to do.
She inched toward him and kept her voice low. “Actually, I was wondering about this sifting pile.”
“What about it?”
“Well, that’s not ours.”
“It’s not?” Neal threw a panicked glance over his shoulder.
Leila pointed across the trenches. “Ours is over there, by pit five.”
Neal’s mouth dropped. “Then wh—”
“You!” a man shouted. Standing twenty yards down the path, he wore a white jellabiya robe that hung to his ankles. Leila didn’t recognize him from their team.
He put his hands on his hips. “Have you been dumping khara into our sifting pile all day?”
Leila cupped her hands over her mouth. “Sorry! We’ll get it sorted!”
The man scowled and waved a dismissive hand before disappearing back into his trench.
“Are you serious?” Neal said, running a hand through his hair. Droplets of sweat went flying.
“Don’t worry about it.” Leila shook her head, trying not to laugh, despite having even more work to do, no thanks to Mr. Mastodon. What was that guy doing here, anyway?
Digging and sifting continued for another hour. They were starting to see the outline of an underground structure but despite their shades and tents, the desert heat showed no mercy and the workers began to take refuge in the shade. Soliman was pleased with their progress, hoping sometime tomorrow they could use the smaller tools for more delicate work.
Leila had stationed herself at the sifter, determined to sort through Neal’s pile of dirt as fast as possible so the neighboring excavation wouldn’t have to complain again. She sifted, washed off rocks in plastic basins, then sifted some more.
Another half hour went by. She straightened and wiped the moisture from her brow, her gaze falling on Xander a few yards away as he took a long drink from a water bottle. So far, they had been able to avoid each other the entire morning. He was even more of a mess than her, with dirt smeared all over his clothes, the fabric soaked through with sweat. She scrunched her nose, then returned her attention to the bags of ceramic-like shards she had collected, and picked up a marker to write the labels.
“Anything interesting?” Xander said from behind her.
“Nope, pretty sure everything can be tossed,” she answered with a sigh, relieved he was sticking to a professional topic. She inspected the tip of the marker, which refused to write on the plastic surface.
“No surprise there,” Xander said as he selected a new marker from the other side of the table and handed it to her.
After a moment’s hesitation, Leila took it. “Thanks,” she muttered, hoping he didn’t notice the slight tremble of her hand. Although she was proud of herself for having a seemingly ordinary conversation with him, she couldn’t wait for him to leave so her breathing could return to its normal pattern.
Xander peered down at the plastic bag she had written on, a pensive expression coming over his face. He seized another marker and crossed out her writing.
“What are you doing?” Leila gasped.
“Writing a new label.”
“There’s nothing wrong with the one I wrote.” She tried to snatch the bag from under the tip of his pen, but he whisked it out of her reach.
The crunch of heavy boots came from nearby.
“You guys need any help?” Neal called with a wave.
