Curse of the Pharaoh: A Brock Stone Adventure

3 The Search

“I positively adore your hat,” Trinity said. “I wish I could dress with such elegance, but it’s a man’s world and I have to work in it.”

“Believe me, I understand. The men in my industry are dogs.” Magda Fischer rolled her big blue eyes and smiled knowingly.

“That is why she only spends her time with men who know how to treat a lady. I am John Kane.” They shook hands. Kane was a tall man with an athletic build. His jet-black hair, sprinkled with silver at the temples, was perfectly coiffed, and his toothbrush mustache precisely trimmed.

“A pleasure. I am Nellie Benton.” Nellie Benton was the name Trinity gave when hiding her identity. It combined the names of two of her personal heroes: Nelly Bly, the legendary investigative reporter, and Jessie Benton Frémont, the writer and political activist whose writings had brought fame to her husband, John C. Frémont.

“Miss Benton is a reporter,” Fischer said.

“Really?” Kane arched an eyebrow. “Forgive me, but every reporter I’ve ever met has been a peaked-looking man with thick glasses and at least one ink stain on his suit.”

“You just described half my colleagues,” Trinity said.

“What newspaper do you work for?” Kane asked.

Trinity said the first name that came to her. “The Washington Warbler.” She wondered if the Warbler even had any female staff. If Kane suspected her, he could easily find out she had been lying. But Kane merely nodded and flashed a polite smile. Relieved, Trinity turned to Fischer.

“I don’t suppose I could have just a few minutes of your time?”

“Our viewing begins in a few minutes,” Kane said.

“You go on. I’ll catch up.” Fischer turned to Trinity and grinned. “Women should support one another, don’t you think?”

“Absolutely. And thank you.” Trinity’s heart raced. She had managed to stall Fischer but not Kane. Alex was now on his own.

Alex approached the guard. He kept his chin up and tried to exude an air of confidence. He took a deep breath and spoke from his chest.

“I’m Agent English,” he said, flashing his Buck Rogers Fan Club membership card and tucking it away again before they could read it. “I need to give the exhibit a final inspection.”

“Your girl already did that,” the guard said.

“Which is why I need to check behind her. You understand.”

The guard grinned knowingly. “Should have sent you in the first place.”

“Government.” Alex shrugged as he strode past the guard and into the Crowley exhibit.

He quickly examined the collection. A gold death mask stood on a pedestal. Behind it, five canopic jars sat in a row. A variety of weapons were on display, including javelins, bronze-tipped spears, and a gold dagger with a jewel-inlaid hilt. Statues of all sorts guarded a large quartzite vault that had once held a coffin. Nothing leaped out at him as being unusual or especially significant.

He moved on to the next room, where Orion Crowley’s study had been reconstructed. A quick inspection turned up nothing. He was about to admit defeat when his eyes fell on a walking stick leaning against an overstuffed armchair. It was topped by a bronze cap. Stone’s grandfather had owned one like this. The cap was removable if you knew the trick.

“I wonder…”

He picked it up, twisted the cap a quarter-turn to the left, pushed down, then a half-turn back to the right, then pulled up. It came free. Inside was a rolled paper. He took it out and unrolled it. It was a map! He barely had time to take in the sight when he heard voices. His watch read 3:00. Time was up!