The Pharaoh's Secret (NUMA Files 13)

“The tablets from Aboukir Bay led us here,” Shakir explained. “The writings we found led us to the secret of the Mist. They told us how the priests of Osiris sailed once a year to the Land of Punt to recover what they needed to make the serum. Of course we had to modify it, but that led us to ways of improving it.”

“Which are?”

Shakir chuckled. “Be glad I haven’t slipped and told you, Alberto, otherwise I’d have to feed you to the crocodiles.”

Piola held up a hand. “Never mind. I just hope your demonstration was enough to convince our friends that resisting will only get them killed.”

“I’m sure it has,” Shakir said confidently. “But the question is: what happens afterward? Libya is fractious. It would be helpful if you were able to push through a vote in your parliament establishing a protectorate over the country once it has fallen apart. A joint Egyptian–Italian operation would allow us to enforce order.”

“We need more votes,” Piola said. “I can’t get them without something to offer. I need another shipment of the Mist to replace the one that was destroyed on Lampedusa. If we can coerce ten additional ministers, the vote will swing our way. We may even be able to form a new government with me as Prime Minister.”

Hassan broke in. “A new batch is being prepared,” he said. “But it’ll do no good if the Libyans reject our help. Even though they appear to be teetering, they refuse to fall.”

Shakir nodded. “We need to make it worse for them.”

“Can you?” Piola asked. “I understand that the main sources of water have been shut off, but some of the smaller stations are still producing. And there’s a large desalinization plant near Tripoli that’s been running at full capacity.”

“I’ll have someone put that plant out of action,” Shakir said. “And we can boost our draw on the aquifer, running the pumps continuously instead of in spurts. In twenty-four hours, the Libyans won’t have a cup of water to share, let alone enough to fight over.”

“That should break them,” Piola agreed.

Hassan approved. “And it’ll give us an excuse to move in. Much better if our soldiers are seen bringing water to thirsty families instead of storming in with guns drawn.”

Shakir nodded. Thousands more would die. Maybe tens of thousands. But the end result would be the sam

e. Egypt would control Libya. Egyptian proxies would control Algeria and Tunisia. And Shakir would control them all.

“So it’s agreed,” Piola said. “In that case, I’ll leave for Italy immediately.”

Before anything else was said, a hardwired phone buzzed. Hassan answered it. He spoke briefly and then hung up. His face looked grim.

“That was Security at the hydroelectric plant,” he said. “They’ve had a breach. They’ve been looking for an intruder without success. But they’ve just discovered that one of the tramcars is missing. They found it in the tunnel, a hundred feet from the Anubis access point.”

Shakir pursed his lips. “Which means they don’t have an intruder. We do.”

—

Kurt walked into the Mars-like landscape, enduring waves of heat from the glowing red lamps.

“This is our incubator,” Golner said.

“Incubator for what?” Looking around, all he saw was desiccated soil, with hundreds of little mounds protruding from it in a precise geometric pattern. “What are you growing in here?”

“Nothing’s growing,” the biologist said. “Sleeping. Hibernating.”

“Show me.”

Golner led Kurt to one section of the room, stepped off of the path and crouched down beside one of the small mounds. With a garden trowel, he brushed away the loose soil and dug out a softball-sized dirt clod. He scraped the soil from the sphere and then began peeling a layer off of it.

Kurt half expected a squirming alien creature. But as the outer layer was removed, it revealed a bloated, semimummified frog or toad.

“This is an African bullfrog,” the biologist said.

“I saw hundreds of those in the catacombs.”

“This one is alive,” the biologist said. “Just dormant. Hibernating. Like I said.”

Kurt considered the statement. In colder climates, things hibernated in the winter, but in Africa going dormant was a way to survive the droughts. “Hibernating,” Kurt repeated, “because you stuck him in the mud and turned on the heat?”