Gregg Loomis: The Bonaparte Secret

“Enough time to repent.”

Gurt changed the subject. “Do you think your friend Rossi will find Alexander’s mummy?”

Lang shrugged. “For his sake, I hope so.”

“For your sakes, I hope not.”

Both Lang and Gurt stopped with forks halfway to mouths and stared at Francis.

“Why not?” she wanted to know.

“You’re joking! Surely there’s not a religious reason not to discover the greatest pagan of them all?” Lang added.

Francis put his silverware down and looked from one to the other. “Of all the people in the world who should know better, you two should. Alexander the Great’s mummy-if it exists-has brought nothing but trouble to those who searched for it. Alexander’s general, Perdiccas, lost an army trying to get it. Napoleon lost Egypt. You two could have lost your lives.”

Lang forgot his dinner for the moment. “Are you saying there’s a curse on it, like King Tut’s curse? Talk about pagan!”

Francis calmly returned his attention to his plate. “Pooh-pooh all you want. Within less than a month of opening Tutankhamen’s tomb in 1923, Lord Carnarvon, the expedition’s financial backer, was dead.”

Lang wiped his mouth and put down his napkin, fascinated Francis could believe in such hogwash. “The curse of the mummy? The twenty-six other people present, including Howard Carter, the man who found Tut’s tomb, survived. Surely you don’t believe in curses?”

Francis was unperturbed. “Of course not. I do believe some things are inherently evil, including grave robbing, even of pagan graves.”

Lang started to respond but caught a slight negative head shake from Gurt- No, don’t go there. Francis was by far the brightest person Lang had ever know. But sometimes there were issues that simply could not be discussed within the framework of their friendship. Faith could be neither explained nor rationalized. Intrinsic evil was not an arguable subject.

Gurt broke what could have become a heavy silence. “If Alexander’s mummy is found, then what?”

“The Egyptian, Hawass, will claim it for his country,” Lang said.

Francis smiled, reaching for another helping of pot roast. “Let us hope it stays there.”

Although Lang didn’t agree with his friend’s idea of evil per se, he hoped so, too.