3.

Gladius Dei His hands were steady as he duct-taped the device against the thin metal wall that separated his compartment from the one in front. He added another strip, crisscrossing the others to hold the mechanism fast. Then he wedged his rock-fi lled suitcase against the explosive so it would blast forward.

He nodded, satisfi ed, and set the timer. Thirty minutes. That should put detonation somewhere around Qena.

The train slowed to a crawl as the porter announced the station. He slipped off his rubber gloves and dropped them on the fl oor where they would burn away. Some half dozen tourists shuffl ed along the corridor dragging their holiday luggage toward the door. When the train started again, at the last moment he opened the door and jumped out.

On the platform, he tugged the brim of his hat a bit lower and strode briskly out into the warm night air of Luxor.

Fifteen minutes later he pulled onto the highway that ran parallel to the railroad tracks. He could drive at top speed now; the night traffi c was sparse. The train was well ahead of him, but he did not need to be in sight of it, only close enough to hear the explosion.

He checked his luminous watch. Ten minutes to go. The August night was hot, and he propped his arm on the car window to let the breeze blow into his shirt sleeve. Under the calm of his competence and resolve, he was excited. It felt good to be a lone soldier, fulfi lling a complex and righteous mission that was both personal and for the greater good.

It had taken him a long while to surrender his will and to accept his duty. He bore the scars of harsh discipline. But he bore them with honor now as the signs of his identity . He was the heir to generations of piety and sacrifi ce of the most rigorous sort-a lineage of martyrs in a way. His father, who had so often laid the strap to him, would fi nally be proud.

The soft boom somewhere ahead of him and the orange glow in the distance spread warmth downward from his chest. I am the arm of vengeance, he thought. I am the instrument of righteousness . He felt, curiously, like both a victor and a martyr.

* 22 *

Vulture's Kiss

4.

Caught Valerie hummed a bit of Italian opera as she or ganized the chaos in her offi ce. It had grown imperceptibly during the summer term, and now, before she went on leave again, she had to deal with it.

She reduced the towers of reference books, returning them to their places on the shelves, but the loose papers thwarted her. Each one required a decision: create a folder and fi le, or discard. And every one of them contained some vital piece of information. Defeated, she simply squared the piles, improving their appearance but obscuring further the location of any given article if she should need it.

Among the papers were some photos and she paused to study them. Ah, yes, the "family" photo Derek had insisted on taking just before they left Luxor two years ago. Valerie smiled at the memory .

They had been hurrying to get the train back to Cairo, but he had run and bought a disposable camera and asked the merchant to snap the shot, in the middle of the Luxor street. Silly , sentimental, wonderful Derek.She held the photo close. Auset, poor dear, looked exhausted, and no wonder, having endured childbirth on the fl oor of an Egyptian temple only two days earlier . Yussif, beaming, to the extent one could beam from behind a thick black beard that generally rendered him ferocious.

Derek was grinning too, no doubt because he had just acted out a living opera of heroic sacrifi ce and triumph. Valerie, herself, looked a bit distracted. And in the middle, asleep in Auset's arms, lay the newborn Neferenepet, the Child of the New Year who had just been acclaimed by a few hundred Egyptian gods.

Valerie stared, bemused, at her own image and wondered what attracted students to her. No one would call her pretty, not in the girlie sense. Her oval face could occasionally look bony , especially after a few months on excavation when hard labor completely burned of f the lentils and pita she consumed. She used to like her lar ge, slightly slanted eyes until she learned they came from the paternal side of her * 23 *

family. She shuddered a little. Akhnaton eyes. Was that what appealed to students like Belle?

Maybe it was the scar . She ran her fi ngertips over the crescent-shaped ridge just in front of her left ear. The look of the adventurer, the veteran of mortal confrontations. She chuckled to herself. You could say that.

Someone tapped at the door.

"You're right on time, Mlle Cather. Come on in."

"Call me Belle."

A thin sweater, too short to be tucked in, had replaced the blouse.

She wore the same dark jeans, which hugged her narrow hips and left a line of exposed skin between pants and sweater . The fl awless skin was caramel colored, and she was obviously not Belgian. Moroccan, perhaps? The last name gave no indication. The face was generic pretty, as if copied from a cover of one of the glamour magazines.

Valerie sat down on the narrow couch at the side of the offi ce and motioned toward the armchair at the corner . "So. How can I help you?"Belle ignored the chair and sat next to Valerie on the tiny offi ce sofa, then shifted sideways, clasping her hands in her lap. "I'm sorry I missed some of your lectures," she began. "Did you talk much about the Egyptian gods? Did the students always react as they did today?"

Noting the proximity of their legs, Valerie smiled inwardly. She had no doubt where this was going. "Y es, and I'm afraid they did,"

she answered pleasantly . "The few who are religious take of fense at polytheism altogether. They have their own supernatural beliefs and allow no room for any other perspective. The students who are not religious have no interest in the supernatural at all. And both groups are contemptuous of what they see as animal worship."

"They do seem resistant-and superfi cial." Belle rested one elbow on the back of the sofa. The sweater on that side of her waist lifted to reveal a handbreadth more skin.

Valerie's face began to warm with the realization that Belle's knee had somehow approached her own and now brushed lightly against it. "In a way , their skepticism is healthy , but they are also infl exible, * 24 *

Vulture's Kiss unwilling to explore dif ferent ways of comprehending the world. But what was so important that you wanted to talk about?"

"I will get to that in a minute. First, please tell me about yourself.

How did you become interested in Egyptian religion?"

Ah. The tell-me-about-yourself gambit . She had used it herself many times. Obviously Belle had nothing "important" to talk about, and the "conference" was pure fl irtation. The pressure on her knee confi rmed her suspicion. "That's a complicated story, and I don't think you want to hear the long version."

"Maybe I do. Maybe I care why. Do you teach this subject out of conviction, or just because it is entertaining?" Belle shifted closer so that they sat almost parallel, arms and legs lightly touching.

Valerie could smell the freshly shampooed hair now , and the pleasant fragrance of youthful skin. "Are you asking me whether I believe in the Egyptian religion?"

Belle laughed emotionlessly, tilting her head back with the feigned amusement of a fashion model. "Perhaps I am. Will you answer?"

Sitting so close, Valerie studied the well-formed lips and teeth.

What stroke of luck or fate had brought such a delicious creature to her couch? She was almost too good to be true.

Valerie tried to move the focus away from herself. "Why did you take my class? Maybe your beliefs are more relevant than mine. That seems to be an issue with some of the students."

Suddenly Belle grew serious and leaned forward again. Her arm slid along the back of the sofa and her breast grazed the professorial shoulder. "Y ou are evading my question. Tell me, fi rst, what you believe."

Valerie was aroused by the challenge and the intimate touch.

Already her mind jumped ahead to what was coming: the climb, step by delicious step, to shivering thrill. Familiar heat spread upward, ur ging her toward gratifi cation. So easy to press the little vixen back against the sofa and get the whole thing started. "I'm a scientist. I believe what I can see, and...touch." She laid a fi ngertip lightly on the side of the fashion-model face.

"Is that so?" Belle murmured.

Her head was close now, the thin white line of her upper teeth just visible between parted lips. Valerie detected the smell of mint that in a moment she would taste fi rsthand. Oh, minty kisses were nice. In the * 25 *

precious heart-pounding seconds before the fi rst touch of a new mouth, she slipped her hand between the young thighs. This little romp was going to be quick. Quick and very good. A millimeter from the inviting lips, she closed her eyes.

Thwack!

Valerie's head snapped back from the force of the slap.

* 26 *

Vulture's Kiss

5.

Grim Tidings Valerie blinked in disbelief.

Then she recognized the woman, and the noble epithets ran by her as if on a frieze: Mistress of the Desert, Lady of Elkab, Vulture of Upper Egypt, Protector of the King, Goddess of the White Crown.

Nekhbet.

She was livid. " This is what you do? The Aton raises his hand against us once again, and this is what you do?"

Valerie rubbed the side of her face and looked up speechless at her accuser.

The Eurotrash clothing had disappeared along with Belle and her pretty pout. The goddess was clothed as she was portrayed in tombs and temples, in a simple black sheath dress from calf to bosom. Her sleek shoulders and arms were bare, and the swelling of her breasts was visible just above the sheath.

"Excuse me, but I could ask you exactly the same thing. Is this what you do? You glide into my classroom and my offi ce looking like some nubile young thing, fl utter your eyelashes, and entrap me."

"Entrap? I entered your world as one of your own, to see what you have accomplished at the end of two years. If you imagined other motives," Nekhbet gestured toward the sofa, "you are in error."

"Me?" Valerie was indignant. "What did you expect me to think?

No student visits a professor at night for scholarly discussion. You said you had something 'important' to discuss, but it was just a ploy to get us together."

Nekhbet waved a dismissive hand. "Do not argue these subtleties with me. I have something important to tell you, and you have let your baser urges interfere."

"Baser urges?" Valerie was sputtering. "So I'm to blame for-"

"There have been disasters. Rekemheb has disappeared. His ba-bird no longer fl ies between the worlds."

Valerie's indignation abruptly became alarm.

* 27 *

"His ba-bird is gone?" Valerie knew that the soul took the form of a bird when it left the deceased. It fl ew between the living world and the next with its human face as long as the bodily form remained. Its disappearance was ominous.

"We left his mummy safely in his new tomb. You saw that. Is it possible that someone has found it?"

"Perhaps time has found it and the fl esh crumbles. Whatever the reason, you must create a likeness to house his ka. If it is not too late."

"I understand the principle. But do you think I can create a likeness of him just from memory?"

"Foolish child, you have already forgotten. Wherefore was Derek born in the image of his ancestor? He will be the model. There is a man in Egypt who knows the craft. I will guide you to him. But you must hurry."

Valerie could not take her eyes from the divine mouth where an exquisite groove descended from between the nostrils to the bow of the lips. The suggestive upward curve at both corners of the mouth hinted at a smile. But Nekhbet never smiled.

The same solemnity, the same dark eyes, deep as history, that had mesmerized her two years before did so again. It was the face, faintly Greek as well as Egyptian, that haunted her dreams and reveries.

It had been two years since she had witnessed the stunning spectacle of the gods in the Temple of Dendara. Over that time, she had labored to write their chronicle and tell their glory, and all the while, the thought of Nekhbet had been with her like a heartbeat. Valerie wanted her again. She wanted her all the time.

"The summer term is already over ," Valerie said, forcing her mind to the task at hand. "I can leave in two days. But if it's so urgent, wouldn't it be faster for Auset and Yussif to go? I mean, to arrange for the statue before we arrive?"

Nekhbet lowered her eyes. "That is the other disaster . Yussif is dead."

* 28 *

Vulture's Kiss

6.

Mission Accomplished After the orange light of his bomb faded from the night sky , he drove the rest of the way to Cairo at normal speed. With unfeigned nonchalance, he left the rented car at a garage in Giza.

A.

television in the small offi ce was tuned to the news station, and while the clerk did the paperwork, he watched impassively as the the explosion was reported. The young woman noted the news for a moment, shook her head at the familiar talk of terrorism, then resumed writing.

He tapped his fi ngers lightly while he waited, concealing satisfaction. The plan was successful so far, but would the bait work? If not, he had alternate plans. One way or another he would get them all together and move them into place for the fi nal retribution.

He licked his lips, as if savoring the fi rst taste of a banquet. To his surprise, the year-long mission had not sapped him as he had feared, but made him stronger, and he knew that strength showed in his demeanor.

He had always been handsome, with light wavy hair, but now he exuded potency, and people responded to it.

By their deeds ye shall know them.

The clerk handed him his receipt and held his glance a fraction of a second longer than she needed to. Yes, it was the best thing he had ever done. He had sacrifi ced his normal life, yet he had never felt more virile and alive.