The wind picked up again and seemed to strike her in the face.
Then she awoke, frozen.
Kat blinked. She was still in her room in the lovely California hotel where her Krewe was staying.
She almost laughed aloud. She was cold because shed kicked away her covers. Jumping up quickly, she hurried over to the thermostat. Somehow, sometime, either she or the maid had set the temperature down to the fifties.
She reset the thermostat to eighty-five.
She was much fonder of heat than cold.
That done, she dragged the extra blanket from the closet, grabbed all her covers again and curled back into bed. Shed practically forgotten the dream, shed been so cold.
As she lay down, she thought it had been quite absurd. But then, of course, dreams often were.
Next morning
9:00 a.m.
The water of Lake Michigan was eerie, with different shades of gray shadows and darkness, as Brady Laurie plunged into the chilly depths. Only near the surface could anything that resembled natural light or warmth be found; the lake had always been a place of darkness and secrets. Motes seemed to dance before his eyes as the dive light on his head illuminated his journey, ever deeper into the water. Tiny bits of grasses, sand, orts from the meals of the lakes denizens swirled like dust particles, shimmering as his light hit them.
It was a world of silence down here, making every little noise sharp. The sound of his breathing and the throb of his regulator, the expulsion of his air bubbles, the very pulse of his heart.
It was a world he loved, but today he was on a mission.
He was so anxious. He shouldnt have been diving alone; he knew that. It was against every rule of scuba and salvage, but people often did it, anyway. In fact, hed met enough he-man types so sure of their own prowess that they ignored the rule all the time. He didnt usuallyjust today.
He knew exactly what he was looking for, and the sonar on his boat seemed to have proven his theories and calculations right.
At long last, hed found the sunken shipthe Jerry McGuen.
He believed in his heart that hed found her, the freighter that had carried sixty men and women to their graves, doomed along with the treasures theyd brought from Egypt. The ship had sailed faultlessly all the way across the Atlantic Ocean and up the Saint Lawrence River, only to be lost on December 15, 1898, a day before the journeys end, battered and buffeted by a sudden, fierce storm. She had disappeared so close to her destination, just east-northeast of Chicago.
People had speculated then, as they still did, that a curse had lain upon the ship. The explorer whod made the Egyptian discovery, Gregory Hudson, had been aboard. And, of course, thered been a threat, etched into the stones of the tomb, warning that any man who disturbed the final resting place of Amun Mopat would soon know misery and death. Surely the passengers and crew of the Jerry McGuen had known bothalmost able to see Chicago, but storm-tossed in violent, winter-frigid waters, finally succumbing to the brutality of the lake and disappearing.
Yes, the ship had disappeared, never to be seen again.
Until today. He would see her again. He, Brady Laurie, would see her again!
Salvage crews had hunted for her soon after shed sunkto no avail. And through the years, time after time, historians and divers had sought her, but like many a ship lost in the murky waters of the massive lake, she was simply not to be found.
Brady had been certain all his life that she had to be there. And hed excitedly put forth his theory to his coworkers that, following their recent wicked summer storm, there was a chance she could now be discovered. Violent storms altered a lake bed, just as they could alter the seabed in the Atlantic. He had seen what storms could do. A ship sunk in Florida had gone down on her side; one of the storms that had torn apart the Florida Straits had set her up perfectly again. He believed the same strength and force of that phenomenon was going to reveal the Jerry McGuen.
Storms moved sand and dirt. Storms had tremendous powerenough power to right a multi-ton ship. Even one lost for more than a century, a true shipwreck. His calculations had been off, but not by much. Not if what the sonar had shown him was true.
Through the dark, mystic water of the lake, he saw her.
There she was. The Jerry McGuen!
She lay at an angle, starboard hull lodged into the lake bed, as majestic and visible in the glow of his dive light as if she were at dock.
His heart beat fast, and pride surged through him.
Theyd done it! Theyd found her.
Nohed found her!
His theory was sound, his calculations making adjustments for time, weather conditions, the power of the recent storm and the earths rotations. It couldnt account for the various unknowns, but hed been so close. And now, as he saw it looming before him, his time had come. While that kind of storm usually sank ships, this one had removed layers of sand and almost righted the Jerry McGuen.
Yes, there she was, her massive hull tempting and seductive
Even righted as she was, she had suddenly seemed to loom before him. The lake bed made the water so dark at eighty feet.
Just eighty feet! Shed been there all along, so damned close to Chicago!
He didnt feel any cold through his dive suit, but he was numb. A shiver of excitement reverberated through his limbs. All around him, the water danced in the wavy shadows of the eighty-foot depths, and he became intensely aware of the sound of his own breathing again, the pump and flow of his regulator. He wanted to shout with happiness and share his discovery with the world. Of course, he would do that soon enough, and if any of his team had followed him out today, theyd already know that hed been right. Everyone would know that hed been right, including every salvage diver who had ever dreamed of finding her.
He laughed inwardly, smiling around his regulator. He was pretty sure someone had been behind him. Not that everyone on Lake Michigan had to be following him, but he thought hed seen a research vessel in the distance when hed come down.
His coworkers might be angry that hed jumped the gun, but Amanda had already sold the story of their search to a film producer, who was going to document and finance their historic discovery. Hed supplied money for the search based on Bradys theory. Now they could begin to chart out and rope off the ship and show the world the remains of the Jerry McGuen. Others interested in pursuits far less esoteric than theirs would be stopped at the gate. No more worries about Landry Salvage or Simontons Sea Search beating them to the punch!
He could imagine the treasures in the hold. Priceless Egyptian artifacts, the still-sealed coffin of the high priest known as the Sorcerer of Giza, the sarcophagi, the army of golden figures, the canopic jars, the ancient stones
Underwater for more than a century, he reminded himself.
But even the Egyptologists of the nineteenth century had known about preservation. Sure, they hadnt reckoned on toxins and gases, but they knew all about waterproofinggunpowder and the pursuit of war had certainly furthered mans knowledge of that!
Of course, the hold might have been compromised, a zillion things might have happened and stillwhat they might find!
Hetheydidnt seek treasure or the fortune it could bring. The treasures they discovered always went to museums, and he felt a thrill rush through him as he imagined the headlines when they returned the jeweled sarcophagus of Amun Mopat to the Egyptian people. Amun Mopat would be back where he rightfully belonged, and the name Brady Laurie would be revered in Cairos museum. Yes, yes, yes!
The Jerry McGuen.
She lay thereexposed! He was so elated his heart seemed to stop.
He checked his air gauge. He had at least another ten minutes to take a quick look at his momentous discovery, another ten minutes to explore, and then time to decompress at thirty-three feet and safely reach his research vessel on the surface.
The Jerry McGuen appeared huge, her forward section still pitched slightly into the lake bed, as if shed taken a dive while sinking. Parts of the hull were broken, exposing staterooms and a passenger lobby, and what had been the pursers office. Brady knew the ship; he had studied her plans time and time again. She was a steel-hulled ship, built by the American Stuart Company of Chicago and launched on October 2, 1888. One hundred and eighty-six feet long, thirty-two feet wide, and twelve feet in depth. Her gross tonnage was four hundred and eighty-six, and when she sailed the seas, shed been powered by a triple-expansion steam engine and two Scotch boilers. There had been fifty-two cabins for guests, captains quarters, first mates quarters, four cabins for officers and a bunk room, down in the hold, for crew. The ship, chartered by the very rich Gregory Hudson, had been a state-of-the-art beauty.
Her ballast for the trip had been stonesgreat stones taken from the tomb of Amun Mopat. Before Howard Carters discovery of King Tuts tomb, the discovery of Amun Mopats tomb right in the Valley of the Kings had been one of the most important events in the annals of Egyptology. But the treasures had come aboard the Jerry McGuen, and just a few months after that, those treasures and their history had been lost to the ages. They were soon forgotten by the world at large as new findings occurred and the age of Egyptology moved on.
But now
He eased himself slowly along the hull, fumbling at his dive belt for his underwater camera. As he began to snap photos, the sound of the shutter whirred softly in the water. The flash illuminated bits and pieces of the ship. There it wasthe grand salon, exposed by a gaping hole in the port side, encrusted in weeds and grasses, occupied by fish, large and small. The treasures would be down below.
Yes!
The hull was ripped open belowdecks, as well. He didnt have much time. Just minutes left now, but he could slip through the great tear in the port side, move along the length of the ship.
It was dark within. Eerie. Time had stolen any vestiges of life that might have remained; the cold and the elements would have eaten away at organic fabricand human bodies.
He found the hold and moved past giant crates, some protected by tarps that had withstood the years. Before him was a door, which swung open when he pushed it. The door hadnt been sealed, which might have aided in the flooding that had brought about the ships demise, he thought, distracted. He didnt care at that moment how the ship had sunk. Hed nearly reached the treasure.
As he kicked his flippers and swam through, the dive light strapped to his head suddenly went out.
He muttered to himself, tapping the light. It came back on.
He saw the boxeshuge crates, really, wrapped and sealed in waterproof tarps!and in the midst of them, he could see the giant box with the label peeling and nearly gone, and yethe could still read the name on it.
Amun Mopat.
There it was! The box containing the sarcophagus holding the inner sarcophagus and then the mummy. It had survived; the men whod discovered the treasure had stolen it away carefully sealed.
Over there, boxes of jackals and sphinxes and funerary artifacts, bows, quivers
His light went out again. Cursing silently, he tapped it. As he did, he heard a curious sound. A noise so deep in the water was different from what it would be on the surface, and yet
It sounded like the hold door was closing on him!
The light came back on.
He stared in horror.
He opened his mouth to scream. Losing his regulator, he sucked in air, and his scream was silent.
He was stunned, terrified.
The curse! The curse, silent, unspoken in these depths
It was real!
Yes, he had found the Jerry McGuen.
But he would not live to tell the tale.
1
Amun Mopat, Katya Sokolov said to Logan Raintree. Youre kidding me, right?
The heat that had been shining through the skylight seemed to disappear, as if the sun itself had lost some energy.
The name made her shudder. Theyd just finished investigating a death in Los Angeles at Eddie Archers special effects studioa death based on an old film noir remake. The original movie had been titled Sam Stone and the Curious Case of the Egyptian Museum. The new one, fittingly, was called The Unholy.
No, Im not kidding, Logan said.
He had a fascinating face, the result of Native American and European parents, handsome and filled with character. She had learned to read it well, and she knewhe was not kidding.
Amun Mopat.
It was the name of the insidious ancient Egyptian priest who had supposedly come back to life to perpetrate murders. He was a character in a movie.
A character used in the very recent tragedies that had taken place.
And nowAmun Mopat?
Amun Mopat, yes, Logan said, almost as if shed spoken aloud. He leaned back, looking around with a sigh. They sat in the beautiful little lobby-café of their boutique hotel, surrounded by wrought-iron lattice work and art deco design. The past weeksalthough somewhat traumatic in the final resolution and cleanuphad still contained some nice upswings. Theyd seen tapings of half a dozen TV shows, including Kats favorite comedy, spent days at the beach in Malibu, visited the Magic Castle and other attractions, and actually experienced something that resembled a vacation.
This meeting didnt bode well. Shed received the call to meet Logan while she was enjoying a visit to the La Brea Tar Pits. It had been an urgent call, and shed known it meant she wouldnt be seeing a retro performance of the Rocky Horror Picture Show that night with Tyler Montague and Jane, two of the six in their special FBI unit.
Shed wondered if the others were going to be involved, but she was sitting here alone with Logan.
She had all but forgotten her strange dream of the night before. And now, even as it seemed to come crashing down around her, she wondered what a storm at sea could have to do with Amun Mopat.
The curse. Shed heard the words in her dream. Egyptian entities always seemed to come with curses!
Go figure. After all thisAmun Mopat. In Chicago, Logan said in a dry voice.
Yeah, go figure. Chicago, she repeated blankly.
Logan Raintree was her superior, the head of their team. Their actual boss was the elusive Adam Harrison, who had begun this excursion into the unknownand the knowncombining FBI technology and certainunusual talents. Logan worked loosely with the head of the first team, Jackson Crow, evaluating information from those who sought help and deciding which cases truly called for their unique abilities. Since the original group of special investigators had become known as the Krewe of Hunters, theyd unofficially been dubbed the Texas Krewe. Their first case had been in San Antonio, home to many of them. Working with Logan and the other team members was thrilling and gratifying at once; it felt as if they spoke an ancient and secret language, and had come together as nationals from the same foreign country.