The Book of the Dead

“Nora,” said Menzies, “the mayor and his wife would love to have you and Dr. Maskelene accompany them in the tomb.”

“Delighted,” said Viola, smiling.

Nora nodded. “It would be our pleasure.” It was standard museum practice, she knew, for VIP guests at openings to get museum staff as private tour guides. And while Mayor Schuyler was not the highest-ranking politician at the opening, he was the most important, holder of the museum’s purse strings, who had been loudest in decrying the destruction of the diamonds.

“Yes, how lovely,” said his wife, who seemed less than enthusiastic about being escorted by two such attractive guides.

Menzies bustled off. Nora watched as he paired up the governor with the museum’s associate director, a New York senator with George Ashton, and various VIPs with other staff to ensure that everyone felt special.

“That fellow’s a regular matchmaker,” said the mayor, following him with his eyes, chuckling. “I could use him on my staff.” The hall’s warm overhead lighting shone off his bald pate, illuminating it like a billiard ball.

“Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention!” came the rich, aristocratic voice of Frederick Watson Collopy, the museum’s director, who had positioned himself in front of the tomb doors, wielding the same tiresome pair of gigantic scissors that were trotted out at every opening. With a little help from an assistant, he got them positioned and ready to cut.

The tympanist in the small orchestra let fly a tolerable drumroll.

“I hereby officially reopen, after more than half a century of darkness, the Grand Tomb of Senef!”

With a mighty heave, Collopy shut the scissors, and the two ends of the cut ribbon fluttered to the floor. With a rumble, the faux stone doors slid open. The orchestra immediately sounded the famous theme of Aïda once again and those in the crowd with passes to the first of the two shows surged toward the dimly lit rectangle of darkness.

The mayor’s wife shivered. “I don’t like tombs. Is it really three thousand years old?”

“Three thousand three hundred and eighty,” said Viola.

“My goodness, you know so much!” said Mrs. Schuyler, turning to her.

“We Egyptologists are veritable founts of useless knowledge.”

The mayor chuckled at this.

“Is it true what they say, that it’s cursed?” Mrs. Schuyler went on.

“In a ma

“Oh, dear, I hope nothing happens to us. Who was this Senef?”

“They don’t really know-probably the uncle of Thutmosis IV. Thutmosis became pharaoh at age six, and Senef acted as regent while Thutmosis grew up.”

“Thutmosis? You mean King Tut?”

“Oh, no,” said Viola. “Tut was Tutankhamen, another pharaoh-far less important than Thutmosis.”

“I get so confused,” said the wife.

They passed through the doors, into the sloping corridor.

“Watch your step, dear,” said the mayor.

“This is the God’s First Passage,” said Viola, and launched into a brief description of the tomb’s layout. As she listened, Nora recalled the enthusiastic tour Wicherly had given only a few weeks before. Despite the warmth, she shivered.

They moved forward slowly toward the first stop on the sound-and-light show, hemmed in on all sides by the crowd. In a few minutes, the three hundred guests were all inside and she heard the rumble as the tomb doors closed, ending with a hollow clang. A sudden silence fell on the crowd and the lights dimmed even further.

Out of the darkness came the faint sound of a shovel digging in sand. Then another-and then a chorus of picks, all striking the soil. Then came the furtive voices of the tomb robbers, speaking in tense, muffled tones. Nora glanced over and saw, in the far corner, the PBS camera crew filming.

The sound-and-light show had begun, and millions were watching.

Chapter 56

Hayward arrived in the hall just behind D’Agosta, stepping into a blaze of light and color. To her dismay, she saw that the doors to the Tomb of Senef were closed, the decorative red ribbon lying cut on the floor. The most important guests were already inside, while the others were scattered about the hall, seated at cocktail tables or clustered in knots by the food and liquor.

“We’ve got to get those doors open-now,” said Pendergast, coming up beside her.

“The computer control room is this way.”

They ran across the hall-receiving startled glances from some of the guests-and burst through a door at the far end.

The computer control room for the Tomb of Senef was small. At one end was a long table on which stood several computer monitors and keyboards. On either side rose up racks of equipment: hard drives, controllers, synthesizers, video equipment. A muted television was tuned to the local PBS affiliate, currently simulcasting the opening. Two technicians sat at the table, observing a brace of monitors displaying video feeds from inside the tomb, as well as a third monitor, on which scrolled a long series of numbers. They turned, surprised at the sudden entry.

“What’s the status of the sound-and-light show?” Hayward asked.

“Going like clockwork,” said one of the technicians. “Why?”

“Shut it down,” Hayward said. “Open the tomb doors.”

The technician removed a pair of earphones. “I can’t do that without authorization.”

Hayward stuck her badge in his face. “Captain Hayward, NYPD Homicide. How’s that?”

The technician hesitated, staring at the badge. Then he shrugged and turned to the other. “Larry, initiate the door release sequence, please.”

Hayward glanced at the second technician and noted it was Larry Enderby, a staff member she had questioned about the attempted murder of Margo Green, and again about the diamond theft. He seemed to be in the wrong place at the wrong time a lot these days.

“If you say so,” Enderby said a little dubiously.

He had just begun to type when Manetti charged in, his face red, followed by two guards.

“What’s going on?” he said.

“We’ve got a problem,” said Hayward. “We’re stopping the show.”

“You aren’t stopping anything without a damn good reason.”

“No time to explain.”

Enderby had paused in his typing, his fingers hovering over the keyboard, looking from Hayward to Manetti and back.

“I’ve been as accommodating as I can, Captain Hayward,” Manetti said. “But now you’ve gone too far. This opening is critical to the museum. Everyone who counts is here and we’ve got a live audience of millions. No way am I going to allow anything or anybody to disrupt that.”

“Stand down, Manetti,” Hayward said in a clipped voice. “I’ll take full responsibility. Something is about to go terribly wrong.”

“No go, Captain,” Manetti said brusquely. He gestured at the television. “See for yourself. Everything’s fine.” He reached over and turned up the sound:

In the fifth year of the reign of the pharaoh Thutmosis IV…

Hayward turned back to Enderby. “Open those doors now.”

“Hold off on that order, Enderby,” Manetti said.

The technician’s hands, still poised above the keyboard, began to tremble.

Manetti glanced past Hayward and abruptly caught sight of Pendergast. “What the hell? Aren’t you supposed to be in prison?”

“I said, open the goddamn doors,” Hayward barked.

“Something’s not right.” Manetti began to fumble for his radio.