Lincoln Child - The Third Gate

“You think…” Rush paused. “You think the crowns of Egypt are in that chest?”

“I know they are. It’s the only answer. It’s the final secret of the final chamber of Narmer’s tomb.” Stone turned to Valentino. “Frank? Have your men give me a hand with this.”

Slowly-as if possessed by a single thought-the group drew together, forming a silent ring around the ebony chest.

Amanda Richards walked into the forensic archaeology lab and turned on the overhead lights with a flick of her fingers. She stood in the doorway a moment, taking in the racks of instrumentation, the carefully scrubbed lab desks and work surfaces. Then she stepped over to a table in one corner. The room smelled faintly of formaldehyde and other chemical preservatives-and, more chillingly, of sulfur.

Taking a seat at the table, she plucked a folder from beneath her arm and opened it. For several minutes, she examined the sheets within: X-ray fluorescence reports, the all-important CT scans, radiographies, and a brief summary analysis by Christina Romero, all pertaining to the same subject: the mummy of King Narmer.

Closing the folder, Richards sat still a moment, going through a mental checklist. Then she stood up and began assembling the tools she would need: scalpels, archival-quality linen thread, forceps, Teflon needles, fiberglass trays, scraps of ancient flaxen bandages taken from mummified remains too badly decayed or damaged to merit forensic intervention. With her tools assembled, she walked over to the corpse locker in the adjoining wall, grasped its handle, and-gingerly-drew out the mummified remains of King Narmer.

The corpse locker was similar to the ones in the storage area, where Fenwick March had been killed during his attempt to loot Narmer’s mummy, with a single difference: this locker was equipped with an atmosphere of inert gas, nitrogen. Since March had violated the mummy so roughly, tearing the bandages and disturbing its internal microclimate, every attempt had to be made to prevent further decay or decomposition. That, in fact, was the reason Richards was here-to repair, as best she could, the damage March had caused and prepare the mummy for shipment, until a more careful and extensive restoration could be done at Porter Stone’s lab complex outside London.

She swung down the stabilizing leg from beneath the locker, fixing its end to the floor. Then, pulling on latex gloves and a surgical mask, she carefully examined the mummy. Earlier in the day, technicians had removed the compounds in the mummy’s windings that formed the ancient booby trap by exposing the mummy to a negative airflow chamber. Nevertheless, Richards handled the corpse with the utmost caution.

She continued examining the mummy, taking note of the damage to the bandaged hands, head, and-most extensively-the chest. She found herself still struggling with the idea that Fenwick March-one of the most revered archaeologists in the world-could have done something like this: not only robbing a mummy, but in such a crude, unprofessional manner. It was amazing, the deadly lure of ancient treasure. March had been studying it, handling it, all his life. Perhaps this find-the Pharaoh Narmer-had finally been too much for him. It was the straw, the golden straw, that broke the camel’s back.

She swung a UV light into place over the mummy. It might be callous to think so, but a part of her was relieved March was out of the way. He had always been a tyrannical presence in the archaeology labs, micromanaging everything and everybody, insisting things be done his way, blustering and bullying and complaining. This was the second time Amanda Richards had worked with him, and he’d been much worse this time out. Perhaps it was all of a piece with whatever mind-set had prompted him to loot the mummy. She shrugged. All she knew for sure was that-had he lived, had somebody else been the one to violate Narmer’s corpse-March would have been looking over her shoulder right now, scowling, second-guessing her every move and telling her how she was doing it all wrong.

As it was, the forensic archaeology lab was delightfully calm and silent.

She moved the UV light slowly over the mummy. Remains of mummy varnish fluoresced a pale gold under the light. Dark patches, where the technicians had stabilized the sticky glycerol with an inert compound to render it harmless, were scattered here and there throughout the upper layers of bandages, torn open by March in his feverish search for grave goods.

Richards snapped off the light and put it aside. Narmer’s chest was the most badly damaged area-she would begin her restoration work there.

Wheeling over a powerful surgical lamp, she aimed it at the chest and began examining the damage with a jeweler’s loupe. March had sliced right through the bandages, exposing numerous layers after the fashion of geologic strata. The anepigraphic scarab had been removed by March, but numerous other, smaller treasures peeped out from the layers of wrappings: beads and faience amulets and golden trinkets and the other items forming the “magic armor” that served to protect Narmer in his journey to the next world.

She shook her head, tut-tutting under her breath. March had made such a hash of the bandages covering Narmer’s chest that she would have to unwrap still more of them before she could even think of putting them back into any sort of order.

Using the forceps, she carefully pulled back the edges of the disturbed wrappings, exposing the deeper layers, tangled and somewhat shredded from the effects of Narmer’s booby trap. Putting aside the forceps and taking up the scalpel, she cut away first one, then a second wrapping, freeing them from the tangle and pulling them away. She hated to do it, but there was no other way to restore the damage. Narmer’s body had been so carefully wrapped, and March had been so hasty and reckless in tearing at those wrappings, that it was like trying to realign the rubber bands around the core of a golf ball.

Taking a fresh grip on the scalpel, she sliced through yet another layer of the linen bandages. Now Narmer’s actual flesh was exposed to the light, covered by a thin cloth and a golden chest piece, which itself had become dislodged, probably by the chemical reaction. That was not good-it might be pressing improperly against the flesh, perhaps damaging it further. She would need to reseat it upon Narmer’s chest. Then she could begin the work of sewing back the layers of bandages with linen thread, and-in places where the original wrappings had decayed or become too brittle-replacing them with her supply of ancient flax wrappings. Then she could move on to the head and the hands, where the work should go much faster. In three hours-four at the most-Narmer’s mummy would again be whole and stabilized for transfer to England.

Putting down the scalpel, she very carefully reached through the layers of cut bandages and gently grasped the edges of the golden chest piece. The surrounding tissue, she noted with approval, was in excellent condition given its great age: gray and desiccated, with no sign of deliquescence. The chest piece, however, was difficult to budge, and she was forced to apply additional pressure. Finally, it shifted, coming free of Narmer’s body with a dry snick.

Richards lifted it slightly, preparing to reseat it properly and sew the bandages over it. But then she stopped abruptly, rooted in place by surprise and shock.

With the chest piece freed from its original position, the flesh of Narmer’s chest was laid bare. And as Richards looked down at the body, she saw-in the pitiless fluorescent light of the laboratory-a wrinkled, shrunken, desiccated, and yet unmistakable female breast.

As the rest of the group watched in rapt silence, Stone stepped up to the large onyx chest. Valentino’s roustabouts came up to stand on either side of him. Stone hesitated briefly, then knelt before the plinth and let one latex-gloved hand brush gently across the upper surface of the chest. His shoulders trembled visibly. He pulled the gloves from his hands-Rush, Logan noted, made no protest at this-and caressed the chest once again. Despite what he’d implied about the chest holding the answer to all Narmer’s secrets, Stone seemed to be in no hurry to open it.