Undiscovered (Treasure Hunter Security Book 1) Page 3

  “How about we go somewhere where we can talk?” He glanced around. There were too many people here, and while no one appeared to be paying them any attention, he didn’t want someone to overhear what he had to say.

  She nodded. “There’s a small café around the corner where I go a lot.”

  Moments later, they’d found seats in a crowded café. Wooden chairs and tables were packed close together in the small space. The butter-colored walls were filled with carved wooden decorations and mirrors. Most of the clientele were locals, wearing regular clothes, but a few were dressed in simple, light-colored robes, and many sat, sucking on the end of the shisha pipes popular in Egypt. The tall, elegant glass waterpipes for smoking flavored tobacco sat on the floor beside each table.

  Dec sat on the small chair and edged forward, his knees bumping slim legs under the table. A harried waiter dropped off a coffee for Dec, and a mint tea for Dr. Rush. The tea was in a tall glass, rimmed with gold. Dec’s coffee was of the local variety—he’d picked up a taste for the strong coffee after spending a lot of time in the Middle East. He lifted the small brass pot and poured the coffee into his cup, the bold scent hitting him.

  Dr. Rush sipped her tea. “So, you’re planning to investigate all of my team?”

  “I already am. I have my team Stateside running checks. If anyone’s opened an offshore account or received a large sum of money recently, my tech expert will find it.”

  The lovely doctor’s eyebrows rose. “He must be good.”

  “She is.”

  Rush’s fingers tightened on her cup. “What if this was just random—?”

  “It wasn’t. You must know that a lot of digs in the area have been hit over the last few months. Especially high-profile ones.”

  She nodded. “They did seem to know what they were doing.” She shivered.

  He saw the shadows, recognized them. He wanted to reach out and place his hand on hers. Stupid. Dec was good at protecting, crap at providing comfort. “No one is going to hurt you again.”

  She swallowed. “No. Because this time, I’ll be better prepared.”

  He nodded. “And I’m going to help you with that. Once we get to the dig site, my team and I will do a security assessment and implement any recommendations—”

  “Whoa, hang on, Mr. Security Expert. It is still my dig and I have work to do. Any recommendations, you run them past me first.”

  Dec stirred his coffee. “Security matters fall under my control, Dr. Rush. Your bosses have already given the okay for me to do whatever I need to do to safeguard you, your team, and the artifacts.”

  She huffed out a breath. “I’m not going to stop you from doing that, hell, I want you to do that. But can you guarantee your security team won’t hamper our work, or possibly endanger the integrity of our studies—?”

  “Nope. Lives come first. Then the valuables. If I have to trample on your dig while I do that, sorry.”

  She stared at him. “You like giving orders, don’t you, Mr. Ward?”

  “It’s Declan. We’re going to be spending a whole lot of time together, so use it. Mr. Ward makes me think of my dad.” He sipped his coffee, liking the blush of heated color in her cheeks. “And yes, I’ve been giving orders ever since they gave me my own SEAL team.”

  Rush looked upward. “A SEAL. I should have known. I knew you were Special Forces, but of course, you have to be one of the biggest and baddest of them all.”

  He studied her. He was used to lots of reactions from women in regards to his former career. Some were intrigued in an “I’m going to drag you to bed” kind of way. Others were often intimidated.

  But the lovely Dr. Rush was neither. She just absorbed the information as a fact and didn’t look particularly impressed.

  “And don’t worry about your dig, Rush. We specialize in this kind of work…we know not to trample the archeology.”

  “Okay, Mr. Ward…Declan. Once we get to the dig, I’ll listen to the security recommendations you have.”

  She’d do more than listen. Still, he’d prefer they worked together, not against each other.

  He leaned forward. “I also wanted to ask you about the attack. Any details you remember that might help me?”

  She went tense and set her glass down.

  He saw it—the horror, the helplessness—all over her face. He hated to make her relive it. “I’m sorry—”

  “No.” She shook her head, visibly pulling herself together. “I’ll tell you what I can.”

  Dec was impressed. She locked down her fear and memories, and was looking at him, face composed. A glint of steel in her eye. “Good, okay. How many thieves?”

  A crease appeared between her brows. “Four, maybe five. I didn’t see them all. Especially after I got hit.”

  Dec pulled out a small notepad and jotted some notes. “Locals?”

  “I think so. They spoke Arabic. Except for the man in charge.” She shivered, her hands clenching together. “My cheek was hurting and I was having trouble focusing. But his voice… I’d remember it anywhere.”

  This time Dec couldn’t stop himself. He put his hand on hers and squeezed. “You’re doing well. What about this guy?”

  “He had a British accent. And his voice was cold, empty.” She gave a small laugh. “God, it sounds so cliché. The cold British bad guy.” She looked up and when she saw Dec’s face, her smile vanished. “You know who he is.”

  Dammit. Dec must really be losing his edge. His guys joked no one could read his poker face, unless he wanted them to. “His name is Anders. Ian Anders.”

  “He’s a thief?”

  “He’s a former soldier, British Special Forces. He moved into stealing antiquities to sell on the black market a few years ago. He usually does the job himself, and is damn good at sneaking in and out.” Dec wasn’t sure how much to tell her. He didn’t want to frighten her more than she already was. But staring into her face, he knew Dr. Layne Rush was made of pretty tough stuff. And the more information she had, the better off she’d be. “He usually leaves a few dead bodies behind, as well. In fact, he enjoys it.”

  She gasped, her hands tightening, her knuckles white. “He said he wished he had more time to play before he knocked me out.”

  Dec wasn’t sure what that meant, but he didn’t like it. He hadn’t heard of Anders working with a team before. Or leaving people alive. All of this sounded off. “He possibly just wanted to keep you quiet.”

  “I…” Her voice cracked. “In that moment, I had no idea what would happen. If they’d take me, kill me…”

  “Hey.” Dec tipped her chin up and wasn’t surprised to find the skin under her jaw was soft as hell. He had no idea how a woman who spent months on remote digs in harsh conditions had this baby-fine skin. “You’re okay. Nothing’s going to happen to you.”

  She pulled in a breath. “So, this Anders guy stole my artifacts.”

  “Yes. But he doesn’t usually work with a team—”

  “Or leave people alive,” she added.

  “Yeah.” It was a bit of a mystery, and Dec hated mysteries. “I’m working to track him and your artifacts down.” Dec’s phone rang. “Sorry.” He glanced at the screen. “It’s my man, Logan, he’s working this job with me. Logan, what have you got?”

  “Dec. Just got a call from Hasan Kelada. Said he has a pretty little piece of gold you might want to take a look at.”

  Yes. “Thanks, Logan. I’ll check it out.”

  Dec flicked his phone off and looked at Rush. “An antiquities dealer I know here in Cairo thinks he just purchased one of your artifacts.”

  Dr. Rush’s eyes widened. “I just spent the morning questioning dealers I know. They said they hadn’t seen or heard anything.”

  Dec pressed his tongue to his teeth. “I’m guessing your dealers are all legitimate.”

  She nodded. “Of course.”

  “My guy is…not.”

  Her gaze narrowed. “Black market?”

  “More gray with a few s
hades of brown. Come on.” Dec stood. “Let’s go pay him a visit.”

  Chapter Three

  Layne stepped into the overcrowded shop, trying to fight back her righteous anger.

  She was going to visit a black-market dealer. Her stomach was turning circles. Someone who took important, valuable pieces of history and sold them for their own personal gain.

  The shop looked like any other one in the Khan el-Khalili. It was crammed full of cheap replicas of Tut’s mask, statues, Bastet cats, and seated scribes. Gaudy papyri covered the walls. One side of the store was filled with shisha pipes. She wondered how the hell the tourists got those home on the plane.

  An older Egyptian lady watched them from the back of the shop.

  Declan stepped forward and to Layne’s shock, spoke in perfect Arabic. He traded greetings with the woman, even got a smile out of her, then she waved them through a door in the back.

  They walked down a dingy hall.

  “You speak Arabic?” she asked, studying him.

  “Picked it up on the teams.”

  Her gaze narrowed. His face would probably be considered handsome by some. But no one would accuse him of being pretty. His features had a hard, sharp edge that matched the intensity of his gunmetal-gray eyes. His nose was slightly crooked and she wondered how he’d broken it.

  Well, the man was sure blowing her idea of muscled, macho SEALs who were all brawn and no brains out of the water.

  At the end of the hall, a burly man leaned against the wall, watching them get closer. He looked bored, but Layne saw the pistol holstered at his hip, and she tensed.

  The man didn’t say anything to them, just opened the door.

  Inside was like stepping into a different world. Layne gasped, pressing a hand to her chest.

  It was a small gallery—sleek and polished, where the shop at the front was crowded and worn. The floor was glossy tiles, the walls painted a pearl-gray, and rows of glass display cabinets filled the space. Each was illuminated with discreet lights. Some of the cases were empty and some were not.

  Layne hurried over to the first case, her mouth going dry. “Declan, look at this! It’s an Eye of Horus.” It was an ornate eye with graceful swirls made of gold and inlaid with precious stones. Also called a wadjet, it was a symbol of protection, and this one was in pristine condition. “This is museum-worthy.”

  “Rush, we’re here to get Hasan’s help. If you berate him about this, he might just show us the door.”

  “But—”

  “You want your artifacts back? You want to stop Anders?”

  She huffed out a breath. “I’m guessing you’re going to be annoying. A huge pain in my…side.”

  A faint smile on his lips. “Count on it.”

  She wandered down the row of display cases. A bronze of the goddess Hathor. Canopic jars. Sets of amulets. Pottery. Gold jewelry. She flexed her hands. These were some of the best quality pieces she’d seen. “These should all be in museums.”

  “Where they’ll be crowded in with other artifacts, or stored in boxes in dusty back rooms?”

  The new, accented voice made her spin.

  The man was an older, portly Egyptian with a head full of thick gray hair and a strong-boned face.

  “No, studied and admired by thousands.” Beside her, she heard Declan sigh. “And by more than just one person with deep pockets.”

  The man moved forward, a faint smile on his face. “Have you visited some of my country’s museums? Dark, dusty, overcrowded, limited security.”

  She pursed her lips. He wasn’t wrong. But that didn’t make it right for people to sell them on the black market.

  “The Egyptian Museum in Cairo alone has over one hundred and twenty thousand artifacts. I can tell you only a small fraction are on display.” He waved a hand. “The rest molder away.”

  “Hasan, good to see you.” Declan came forward to shake hands with the man.

  “You too, Declan,” the man said warmly. “It’s been too long, my friend.”

  “Hasan, this is Dr. Layne Rush. Rush, Hasan Kelada.”

  Hasan’s bushy eyebrows rose. “Rush? You’re from Rhodes University.”

  She gave him a stiff nod.

  “And you run the new dig out near Dakhla.” Now the man’s eyes widened. “My new acquisition…”

  “Was likely stolen from my dig,” Layne said.

  Declan pressed a hand to her shoulder. “Hasan, can we see it?”

  “Of course, of course.” He waved them toward a door. “Come into my office.”

  Hasan’s office was nothing like the gallery. A battered wooden desk dominated the space and it was covered in piles of papers and books.

  The dealer moved to the back wall and lifted a lovely, framed papyrus showing the famous weighing of the heart scene from the Book of the Dead off the wall. Behind it was a state-of-the-art safe. She watched him enter a code and press his palm to a pad. Biometrics. It was really impressive. She scowled to herself. Who knew that black-market dealers took security of stolen goods so seriously?

  Hasan pulled out a tray and set it on his desk.

  Layne gasped. “My set-animal amulet!”

  “Egypt’s set-animal amulet, Dr. Rush,” Hasan said dryly.

  “Of course. But it was my job to safeguard it until the Ministry of Antiquities—”

  “Stuffs it in dusty storage. Somewhere to never see the light of day again.”

  Her hands balled. “It isn’t for you to decide.”

  “I believe in safeguarding my country’s artifacts too, Dr. Rush. But I do it my way, not the bureaucrats’ way. I am doing what I think is best.”

  She raised a brow. “And turning a profit while you do it.”

  He shot her a charming smile. “A man needs to feed his family.”

  “Mr. Kalada, I’m pretty sure that Rolex on your wrist isn’t a cheap knockoff.”

  He just smiled at her again.

  Declan stepped forward. “Okay, how about you two agree to disagree? Layne, you’re sure this is from your dig?”

  She touched the edge of the animal, reading the glyphs inscribed on it. “Absolutely.”

  Declan pinned his gaze on Hasan. “Who sold it to you?”

  “A man I hadn’t done business with before. A British man. Not the friendliest fellow.”

  Layne saw Declan tense.

  “He only offered you this?” Declan gestured at the amulet.

  “Yes. Said it was the last item in the lot he was selling.” Hasan sank into his desk chair. “But he said he has more pieces coming. Things of far better quality than this.” Hasan laughed, a big bold sound. “He said he was on the verge of discovering Zerzura.” The dealer shook his head. “Many crazy foreigners come to Egypt to try and find the lost oasis.”

  “It’s just a myth,” Layne said.

  Hasan nodded. “That is one thing we can agree on, Dr. Rush.”

  “Zerzura?” Declan said with a frown.

  “You don’t know the legend of Zerzura?” Hasan said. “The White City in the desert? A group of British adventurers back during World War II formed the Zerzura Club, and tried to find this treasure-filled city.” Hasan’s brow creased. “And there was a Hungarian as well, they made a movie about his life.”

  Layne nodded. “The adventurers found lots of caves filled with prehistoric cave paintings, around the border with Egypt and Libya. But they never found Zerzura. The legend begins farther back than that, though. Ancient writings tell of a caravan that sets out from the Nile, heading to the oases. A sandstorm hits. One traveler barely survives, and once the storm has passed, everything looks different. He’s rescued by the Zerzurans—fair-skinned, blue-eyed people who live in a fantastic white city.”

  “Fair-skinned?” Declan raised a brow. “Unlikely out here.”

  “Did you know that Ramses II and several other pharaohs were fair-skinned with red hair?” Layne said.

  “Really?” Declan glanced at Hasan.

  The Egyptian man nodded. �
��DNA analysis links Tutankhamun to Western European ancestors. My country was a melting pot of peoples.”

  Layne hurried on. She might doubt Zerzura existed, but she loved the tale her parents had told her so many times. “Ancient Egyptians called themselves red men, but there were clearly paler-skinned people in the mix.”

  “Okay,” Declan said, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Why? Why build a city way out in the middle of a dangerous desert, far from the Nile and what passed for civilization back then?”

  Layne opened her mouth, closed it. “I don’t know.”

  “I doubt it was real,” Hasan said. “A myth. Like so many things mentioned in Ancient Egyptian mythology.”

  “My research leads me to suspect it has something to do with the god Seth,” Layne added.

  “Really?” Hasan leaned forward.

  “His symbol is right there.” She waved at the set-animal. “And he was god of the Western Desert. I believe Zerzura was his mythological home.”

  Hasan nodded. “A good theory.”

  “Seth?” Declan said. “The god of destruction?”

  Layne huffed out a breath. “Seth is seriously misunderstood. In early texts, he was considered a warrior and a protector.”

  “He did slay the demon snake, Apep,” Hasan said, nodding.

  “He was vilified in later years,” Layne said. “When Upper and Lower Egypt joined, Seth was the god of Upper Egypt. But people in Lower Egypt, the winners in the conflict, worshipped Osiris and his son Horus. They clearly felt the need to demonize Seth and install their own gods as the righteous victors.”

  “Horus. The falcon god,” Declan said.

  “You have a pretty decent knowledge of Egyptian history,” she said.

  He shrugged. “I work around a lot of historical artifacts. It rubs off. Besides, my parents…work in the history field, too.”

  Layne tucked her hair behind her ear, enjoying sharing her thoughts. “The legends surrounding Seth changed. They say he was jealous and killed his brother, Osiris, and chopped his body into pieces and spread them across Egypt. It’s the most famous myth in Egyptian history. Osiris’ wife, Isis, found the pieces and used her magic to bring him back to life long enough to conceive a child. Horus. Seth then battled his nephew for the throne.”