The Forbidden Tomb

57

Cobb glanced around the Giza Plateau. He wondered if the news about Manjani would force them to investigate every nook and cranny of the pyramids. He had to admit that he was looking forward to the day when he could tour an ancient landmark just for kicks, rather than a life-or-death mission.

‘Dr Manjani was spotted here? I thought he lost his team in the desert?’

‘He did,’ Seymour replied as he dabbed his brow with his handkerchief, ‘but a few weeks before their disappearance, they assembled here in Giza.’

‘Do you know why?’

Seymour nodded as he pulled his phone from his jacket pocket. He tapped the screen several times until he found the file that he was looking for. ‘They were meeting with this man — a Dr Shakir Farid, of Al-Azhar University in Cairo.’

Cobb and Sarah studied the image that had been pulled from the school’s website. Farid’s eyes were bright and his smile looked natural. He seemed more like a grandfather reacting to a school play than a professor sitting for a school photo.

‘Why did they meet Farid?’ Sarah asked.

‘Given the proposed length of their expedition and the foreign backgrounds of the students, they all needed official documentation. Manjani was granted a work visa because he was heading up the team, but the others needed an Egyptian professor to sponsor their student visas. That’s where Farid came in. They all had dinner together in Giza so that he could meet everyone before the dig. He even paid for their meals before they were given a private tour of the pyramids.’

Unfamiliar with Seymour’s work, Cobb wasn’t willing to take everything at face value, so he decided to test him on his methods. ‘I know the names of the students were listed in news reports — which, I’m guessing, is what led you to their visas. But how do you know that Farid paid for dinner?’

Seymour was up to the challenge. ‘Five double rooms and one single were reserved at a local hotel in Giza. All of these rooms were charged to Manjani’s credit card. However, the cards kept on file for incidentals belonged to the rooms’ actual occupants. Four of these cards were used that day within a ten-block radius of the hotel for toiletries, souvenirs, and the like. But no one, including Manjani, had a charge for dinner.’

‘And Farid did?’ Cobb asked.

Seymour nodded. ‘On the night in question, he had a substantial charge at a local Kentucky Fried Chicken; the one right across the street from here. Now, I’ve been known to eat my fair share of fast food, but even I can’t consume three buckets of chicken and a dozen drinks in a single meal. Maybe two buckets, but certainly not three.’

Seymour snorted at his own joke. It was an obnoxious sound like a pig sniffing for truffles, but coming from the bow-tied Seymour, it was actually endearing.

Sarah smiled. It had been a while since she had heard his laugh. ‘What about recently? Any activity on the students’ cards since their disappearance?’

He shook his head. ‘There were no hits on their credit cards, their mobile phones, or their e-mail accounts. They disappeared without a trace. Literally. No footprints at all — either in the sand or digitally.’

‘What about Manjani?’ Cobb asked. ‘I was led to believe that he was spotted after the incident.’

‘He was,’ Seymour confirmed. ‘He spent one night in a seedy hotel in el-Bawiti, a small town in the Western Desert, before he disappeared as well.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Because I’m good at what I do.’

‘Let me guess: he used his credit card.’

Seymour shook his head. ‘Actually, Manjani was smarter than most. He didn’t use a credit card to pay for the room or his cell phone to make any calls. But he did use a payphone to reach out to someone from his past, and that’s where he slipped up. On the night in question, he used a payphone across the street from the hotel to call Dr Farid. Not once, not twice, but five times. My guess was to warn him, or to ask for assistance, or both.’

Sarah nodded in understanding. ‘He must have been scared out of his mind. Did he ever get in touch with Farid?’

‘He couldn’t,’ Seymour replied. ‘Farid was already dead.’

Her mouth dropped open. ‘Someone killed him?’

Seymour quickly realized his mistake. ‘No, not at all! The man was seventy-eight years old and in failing health. He passed away shortly after the team had left for the desert, which meant Manjani was unaware of his death.’

‘You’re sure it wasn’t foul play?’

‘Foul play, no. Fowl play, maybe. Three buckets of extra crispy would stop most people’s hearts.’ Seymour snorted again, even louder than before. So much so that a group of tourists glanced over to determine the source of the obnoxious sound.

Cobb grabbed Seymour’s arm and gently pulled him away. The last thing he wanted was to turn up on anyone’s radar. ‘Tell me more about Manjani. Was he clean?’

‘Squeaky,’ Seymour assured them. ‘The same with Farid and the rest of the team. I’ve looked into academic records, work histories, credit reports, and every other digital source you can think of. Manjani and Farid were incredibly respected among their colleagues. Every peer evaluation was filled with glowing remarks and notes of admiration. The students all performed at honors level, and none has any challenges to their integrity in their files. Except for a couple of traffic tickets, they’re spotless.’

Cobb nodded in appreciation. After working with Dade, a street hustler who talked in half-truths, Cobb loved the military efficiency of Seymour’s reports. Although he could do without the loud snorting, the material itself was first rate.

‘And the students?’ Cobb asked.

‘What would you like to know?’

‘What were they studying?’

‘Everything,’ Seymour claimed. ‘Archaeology, Egyptology, Roman literature, pagan theology, Greek antiquities, Mediterranean folklore, archaeoastronomy, and a few others. It was quite the diverse collection. I’m not sure how all of these areas fit together, but I can tell you that their divergent backgrounds are decidedly Manjani-esque.’

Sarah didn’t understand the reference. ‘How so?’

‘Dr Cyril Manjani held — or rather holds — doctorates in several of the aforementioned fields and has published articles in many others. Based on all that I have read, I am quite comfortable calling him an über-genius.’

Cobb grimaced. If Manjani was as intelligent as Seymour claimed, then there was a damn good chance that he would never be found. And even if he were, it would probably be far too late to do Jasmine any good. ‘So, what do you think?’

‘About?’ he asked, puzzled.

‘Can an über-genius be tracked?’

Seymour grinned. ‘He might be book-smart, but that doesn’t always translate to the street smart. He’s good at covering his tracks, but he’s not the best. Let me ask you, what’s the first thing you do every morning?’

Cobb stared at him. ‘I take a piss.’

Seymour snorted. ‘Okay, after that?’

‘I eat breakfast and clean my gun — but not necessarily in that order. Seriously, where are you going with this?’

Sarah interrupted him. ‘Unlike Rambo over here, I tend to be a little less soldierly. The first thing I do is check my e-mail.’

‘Me, too,’ Seymour laughed. ‘And, thankfully, so does Manjani. He’s using a brand-new account that’s being routed through a web server in the middle of the Aegean Sea, but I’m sure it’s your man.’

‘The Aegean?’ she blurted. ‘There are literally hundreds of islands, not to mention thousands of boats, in the Aegean. Any way you can narrow it down for us?’

‘Of course I can,’ he said proudly, as he tucked his thumbs underneath his suspenders and snapped them against his chest. ‘Dr Manjani is hiding on the island of Amorgos.’