Mulhammsek

by Jim J. Wilsky

The night was clear, but moonless, and the sea was like glass. The enormous luxury yacht Shamshir , under Saudi ships registry, sat dead in the water. It was very warm, the temperature having dropped very little since sunset. The only lights on board were the stern and bow running lights. The only movement on board was in the bridge.

“Good evening again Mr. Germaine,” the tall ship's Captain said crisply.

Parker Germaine walked quickly in through the doorway, followed by Milo his bodyguard, who took up his station just inside the door, crossing his arms in front of him. He stared at the Captain with no expression whatsoever. He stood well over 6', an emotionless rottweiler of a man.

“Captain Farraday.” Germaine nodded a greeting curtly, then added “any news or status?”

“No, Sir, nothing yet. It should be about twenty minutes until we get the message that they've received it and are headed back out to us,” Farraday reported, letting his thick Irish accent sneak out a little.

Staring out into the black, Germaine said in a low voice “Utmost care when loading Farraday. The utmost care. Make sure that our crew understands that.”

“Fully understood, Sir,” Farraday answered firmly.

“I'll accept nothing less, Captain.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Right then” Germaine snapped his chin up and squared his shoulders, seemingly breaking a trance. “I'll be down in the study, ring me up the moment you get word they're coming.”

“Straightaway, Sir.” Farraday said returning his eyes back to the bank of instrument screens glowing green that were arrayed before him.

“What an absolute donkey's ass,” Terrance Farraday mumbled after the King of England and his pet gorilla left the bridge.

He wondered quickly what in the hell he could have been thinking teaming up with this little twit and accepting this offer. Sure, the money was unbelievable and the amount of actual time and effort was minimal. But there was no such thing as a perfect job and this one was turning into something he hadn't foreseen.

Captain Farraday had once been a real Captain in the British Royal Navy and really not that long ago, but he'd been forced to resign his commission when he got caught up in a Naval intelligence and espionage scandal. He was one of a few scapegoats who had been selected as sacrificial lambs when the main investigation lost steam and turned out to be baseless. Serious charges were never filed but careers were ruined, including his own.

So, Terrance Farraday, the proud career military man had suddenly found himself on the streets of London . Publicly and professionally ruined, he turned to an old vice and started drinking heavily in the pubs. He got involved with a bad crowd and was arrested a full year after successfully completing his leg of transporting two stolen paintings from Italy to London . He had been involved in only the transportation though and not in the actual theft so his sentence was reduced, and maybe assisting in his cause was the fifteen years of service in the Royal Navy before the scandal.

About two weeks after his release from prison, Farraday was invited by an anonymous caller to meet with a Lebanese businessman named Amaj. He had subsequently been offered the tidy sum of $300,000 by the Lebanese man, to be paid in U.S. dollars. His job was relatively simple; to captain a large private yacht for one week. The only thing discussed was his specific task of navigating the boat from the port city of Ashdod , Israel to an anchorage well off the coast of Al‘ Arish , Egypt . After taking on a delivered load that was not identified in any way, he would take the yacht back to Israel but not Ashdod , instead docking at Netanya , Israel .

Sudden movement to Farraday's left snapped him back to reality.

“Sir! Please, a moment?” blurted the Greek deckhand named Stephan. His English was rough, but passable. Farraday had not seen nor heard him coming as his head had appeared abruptly, darting in through the bridge door.

“Yes, Stephan, uh, what is it?” Farraday stuttered, still startled by the seaman's sudden appearance.

“The storage bay doors are open and the cargo lifts are engaged, anything else doing… to prepare…while we prepare to wait?” Stephan asked, smiling despite his tortured English.

The other three deckhands had been sent accompanied by a twin of Milo 's, a monster named Omar, to retrieve the shipment from yet another unknown boat.

“No, that will be all, Stephan. Carry on.” Farraday told him and gave him a casual two fingered salute to the brim of his cap.

“Sir, YES!” Stephan smiled enthusiastically, returning the salute with flair and exuberance. His head whipped out of view, but not before bumping the top of the short doorframe as he went.

Farraday smiled to himself at the deckhand's youthful energy. He had no idea how much these boys had been promised, but he hoped they wouldn't get screwed too badly. They were too young and nowhere near savvy enough to understand the danger they were really in here. Not getting a fair monetary payoff would probably be the least of their worries. Looking out into the black void of the sea, he drifted back into his private thoughts.

While this job would obviously be illegal in some form or fashion and would certainly present dangers both large and small, he accepted the offer quickly. He needed the money, and his life had been permanently changed since being chased out of the Royal Navy. He just didn't care too much about anything anymore.

That had been a month ago, and at first it seemed that he had fallen right into the deal of the century. He was paid $100,000 in upfront money. The balance of two hundred grand would come after he docked the cargo safely back in Netanya.

He was given a week to shake down the yacht he would be piloting. It was huge, powerful and outfitted with the best of everything. Beautiful inside and out, the yacht was a dreamboat. It had four large staterooms, crew quarters, a top-notch galley, a dining area and every amenity that could be thought of. Even the yacht launch was large, comfortable and outfitted with the latest technology and electronics. It was true, his four-man crew was young and multinational, but they were okay and generally willing to follow orders. On a job like this, following orders was the most crucial factor.

On his third day aboard the boat, Farraday had received word over his radio and onboard email that the coordinator and his two “assistants” for this entire endeavor would be joining him that night. They would be onboard for the duration of the operation.

It wasn't long before Farraday figured out that Parker Germaine might be a coordinator, but in simpler terms he was nothing more than the gopher for a very big player. Farraday smelled Black Market and most likely high ticket Black Market. They wouldn't be paying him more than a quarter of a million to ferry around some second rate stolen stuff. They wouldn't be using a yacht like this to camouflage anything except something of enormous value.

Smuggled artifacts, stolen antiques possibly? Art work, diamonds or jewels maybe? He just wasn't sure. He was sure however, that at the end of this operation Milo , or the other assistant, Omar, would be killing everyone that was not considered to be an inner circle guy. Farraday would almost assuredly be outside that circle.

Ending the mental rehashing of his current predicament, he again focused on the moment. The signal that the cargo was on its way would be sent anytime now. He looked at the control board screens and peered into the darkness. They didn't need any interruptions or unexpected visitors right now either. Subconsciously he reached behind him to feel the Beretta holstered in the small of his back. The real fun would start after they had loaded the cargo and were underway again.

***

Parker Germaine, unlike Farraday, knew exactly what they would be taking on board and the intrigue that surrounded it was what had hooked him. The cool two million dollars promised him by the anonymous buyer was the other factor involved in him accepting this undertaking.

As a veteran of the diplomatic corps for a decade, he represented the British Government in some seven different countries in one capacity or other. In that time he had made a wide variety of well placed acquaintances from sincere and noble diplomats, to career do nothings, to absolute criminals dressed in suits. Just over a year ago he had been pushed out of the Foreign Service and after ten long years he was unceremoniously dumped into a desk job in London .

He immediately resigned and struck out on his own as an international art broker, the profession of his late father. He was contacted almost immediately by some of the less reputable men the he had met in the Foreign Service. Men who always needed to prove legitimacy. It didn't take long before he was walking a thin line between observing domestic and international laws and making buckets of illegal money. Soon that thin line had disappeared completely. He had no problem with breaking laws, in fact he preferred taking chances and risks as long as he didn't get caught and as long as the job was as big as Mulhammsek.

Seven months ago a German archaeological team, working in the Valley of the Kings, had made the biggest discovery since King Tutankhamen, he received a long distance international call from Moscow . The contact there said he had a client that would like to discuss a business proposition. Two months later and multiple meetings and calls with people he would never see again, a rough plan was ready. Financial, logistical and communication arrangements were in place. Safeguards and contingency plans were set and agreed to. It was understood that death was the penalty in all security leak situations.

The plan was bold and unusual. Mulhammsek, the new Pharaoh King who had been found in magnificent shape and festooned with priceless jewels and artifacts would be stolen. His sarcophagus, the Egyptian version of the modern day casket, solid gold and inlaid with precious jewels, would also be stolen.

The silent and unknown partner would forever remain just that. All that Germaine knew, or thought he did, was that the man was probably from the Middle East and probably was something political or religious, against the Egyptians. He was also sure of one other thing, the man was extremely wealthy and powerful with a reach that went around the world. He would have to be very careful, and above all, deliver.

***

Two nights earlier, the official Egyptian government convoy had rumbled north through the desert on it's way to the airport for the short flight to Cairo . The night travel and route had been picked for safety, avoiding the high population areas and towns where a person could be delayed for hours sometimes due to traffic. Bad things happen when a convoy stops moving. But, an ancient trick awaited them hidden around a slight bend, in a series of high dunes ahead. Piracy did not only exist on the high seas. A seemingly innocent sheep herder timed it perfectly and when the lead vehicle rounded the turn with high dunes on both sides of him he saw nothing but sheep up ahead. The lead driver slowed to a stop and so did all the other vehicles one by one.

The lead vehicle was a military Hummer, carrying four Egyptian special forces men. The Minister of Egyptian Antiquities, Anwar Sadie Assam was riding in the next car, a civilian SUV, accompanied by two Egyptian military guards and a Cairo policeman who was driving. There was another car behind them carrying the two lead archaeologists from the German team and several local mayors. Behind them in a transport truck, with four guards inside the back of the truck and two in the cab, came the scientific find of the new century.

Mulhammsek, the Pharaoh King from the Middle Kingdom Period of the great Pharaoh Kings and Queens . He was in magnificent shape and had been studied, documented and prepped for travel in the months since he was found. His jewels, gifts and worldly goods placed there for the afterlife, found in the burial chamber with him were beyond compare. They surpassed even Tutankhamen's treasures. He was going to his permanent museum home tonight, The Museum of Fine Art and Antiquities in Cairo .

Spirits were high all around. Beyond the military truck carrying Mulhammsek were three more military SUV's carrying a total of fifteen Egyptian Army regulars.

As soon as the special forces sergeant got out of the first Humvee, yelling at the sheep herder, he was shot in the chest by a sniper dug into the dunes. The driver, who had been bribed, immediately shot the other two in the Humvee.

A large truck then pulled across the road behind the convoy, effectively blocking them in. The trucks full of army regulars were taken out with shoulder rockets from men in the dunes and the cars were taken out very quickly. The last four Egyptian military men alive barricaded themselves in the truck with the Pharaoh mummy, knowing they were at least safer if they stayed close to the fragile treasure. However, when the road bandits threw two smoke bombs through smashed out air vents, the four came stumbling out to die in a hail of bullets.

All in all, the attack had only taken about ten minutes. Using their own equipment and the large truck that they had blocked the rear of the convoy with, ten of the dozen bandits which had numbered twenty before the battle were headed straight west into the desert night, turning north later. The convoy truck that was carrying Mulhammsek was driven by two of the men, heading straight east until dawn. They then parked it openly near the small dock of a tiny town, on the bank of the mighty Nile River . It would be easily identified and would serve well as a decoy.

Before they could collect their money the next afternoon, they were murdered in a crowded marketplace.

When the ten men handed the mummy over to the ship Captain on the docks, their jobs were over, but of course they would all be dead too, before noon of the next day.

***

As he nervously waited for the call from the Neanderthal Irishman up in the bridge, Parker Germaine began to do a head count of the people that he knew had already been double crossed and eliminated in this scheme. The carnage would continue. There could be no witnesses and that had been made perfectly clear to him. A lot of money had been spent up front on some very good people, and they all had to go. Although he would probably rather enjoy seeing the disgraced Captain Farraday taken out. Well, it would all begin soon enough now he thought, glancing at his watch and lighting another cigarette.

***

At 1:15 a.m., the intercom clicked in his suite and Parker Germaine toggled his speaker on.

“Yes Captain Farraday?” he answered.

“Mr. Germaine, I just received an electronically encrypted signal from the launch team. They successfully received the handoff fifteen minutes ago and are coming in. They expect an ETA of twelve to fifteen minutes from now, approaching our current position from the southeast,” reported Farraday.

“Why didn't they call us immediately after taking possession of the shipment? Those were the orders and that was the plan” questioned Germaine, convincingly upset.

“Well, I don't know that, Sir, maybe they called as soon as it was viable for them to do so. At any rate they should be here very shortly” Farraday said evenly, trying to stay focused.

“Yes, well, I'll be right up. I trust you already have our seaman readying the cargo winch?” Germaine snipped.

“Yes, Sir” Farraday responded, adding quickly “We've also got the storage bay doors open and the area prepared for the large container.”

“This has got to come off without a hitch Farraday, carefully and swiftly. We need to be underway immediately after securing our cargo. Understood?” Germaine was telling not asking.

“Perfectly, Sir” he answered. “I'll also be powering up the engines to low idle.”

“Very well” Germaine said and hung up the phone. Almost simultaneously the twin Mercedes Benz Engines rumbled to life.

Farraday watched the engine sensor screens and throttled as low as he could. The powerful engines had a deep muffled rumble to them but they hummed smoothly and were amazingly quiet for their size. His surface scanner showed an approaching craft coming in from the Southeast at only a few knots. Slow and deliberate. He quickly ducked in a small bathroom located just outside the bridge door. Locking the door behind him he reached behind and drew his Berretta. He took the clip out, checked it and then clicked it back in. Making sure the safety was off he re-holstered it, flushed the toilet and stepped out.

As he did so, he almost knocked Germaine over the bridge rail and he reached out quickly to steady the man.

Milo was watching it all closely, looming large right behind his master.

“Whoa there, I have you. Excuse me, Mr.Germaine, I didn't hear you coming” Farraday said, adding calmly, “Had a quick call of nature.”

“Yes, right then. Well, are we ready?” Germaine said obviously surprised, and straightening himself out.

“Yes, Sir, all squared away”

“The yacht launch is right out there,” he said pointing to the south. “In fact, I believe I just heard it.”

Absolute silence greeted them as they stood on the deck rail looking out.

“I don't hear a …“, Germaine was interrupted by the faint thump-thump of the launch motor.

The three of them stood listening to the approaching craft momentarily and then Farraday went into the bridge again, quickly scanning the instruments for any other craft or signal in the area. Seeing nothing he came back out through the door and noticed that Milo was watching his every move.

Fuck you, Farraday thought and stared back at the watchdog with the same dead stare. He was tired of behaving himself.

Stubbornly, he refused to break off the little glaring match, even as he called to his young deckhand, “Stephan, throw the bumpers out and prepare the tie downs to receive the launch”

Frowning now, Milo broke off the challenging stare and looked forward to where Stephan was approaching.

When the time comes, that ape definitely goes first, Farraday promised himself. Although he was convinced that they would need him at least until they docked at Netanya. The yacht was just too big to handle for anyone without extensive experience.

As a vague dark outline of the launch came into view, Farraday flipped on a bank of low lights that ran around the deck to assist the launch in approaching the Shamshir . As it pulled alongside there were only two occupants instead of four: Omar and one other deckhand, who was at the controls.

***

So, the games have begun already, Farraday thought as he stared at Omar sitting amidship, holding a gun to the deckhand's back as they pulled alongside the yacht with only a slight bounce against the bumpers hanging over the side. The kid driving the boat appeared to be scared out of his wits, and he looked at Farraday with eyebrows raised.

“We had trouble, Mr. Germaine, the three of them tried to kill me. I was lucky enough to shoot two and hold him at bay” Omar said nodding toward the driver of the boat.

“We'll discuss that in a minute. Right now we must offload the shipping container, and, Omar, there were no problems with our shipment, correct?”

“No, Sir, no problems whatsoever. They are right here under the canopy” Omar answered immediately.

“They, Omar? They?” Germaine asked quickly.

“Yes, Sir. There are two shipping containers. One very large, very heavy. The other small and light,” Omar said evenly.

“Very well. Omar, have the prisoner assist and if he doesn't, shoot him. Milo , I need you down in the cargo bay. Captain Farraday take over this operation now and you'd do well to remember what I've stressed about the offloading of these containers” Germaine ordered while holding onto the deck rail.

***

The first container, the smaller of the two, was lifted with ease but it was relatively light and began to swing and rotate in the air. Stephan had experience with hydraulic lifts and cargo on the docks of Cyprus so Farraday had already decided that he would operate the machinery. Stephan was clearly nervous though and he did okay at the beginning, but the lack of weight actually made the load very difficult to control. As it started to clear the deck and enter the cargo bay below it twirled and banged the side of the hole very hard as it went it down.

Germaine screamed his displeasure, “CAREFULLY! You Idiot!” Do it again and I'll kill you on the spot!” He raged at the Greek boy.

Sitting the wooden crate down gently the rest of the way, Milo assisted down below. He caught the smaller container, stopping its twirl and swing to help guide it safely to the floor.

The second container would be an entirely different thing. It was chest high, maybe eight or nine feet long and four feet wide. The weight was anybody's guess.

All Farraday could think of was that it was a damn good thing this yacht was outfitted the way it was. The hydraulic lift was heavy duty, it could handle the container and the bay was certainly big enough. After all, it was meant for someone to ship a small luxury car. The only real problem was guiding it below very slowly with no bounce because there was no swing or twirl of this heavy container once it was in the air.

Stephan went slowly and did a masterful job. He dropped it below the level of the deck and out of sight without incident.

A minute later and Milo shouted up that he had both containers strapped and cinched down securely.

Germaine looked at Stephan and said evenly, “If my customer says you've damaged the contents of that smaller container in any way whatsoever, I'll have you gutted like a fish, you blithering idiot.” He then walked quickly to the bay opening and stared down into the lighted storage bay for a full minute.

He finally said, “Check the straps and cinches again, Milo . Do it right now,” never taking his eyes off the scene down below.

“Very well,” he finally said closing the two bay doors and raising his head slowly.

“Captain, get us underway immediately, normal nighttime cruising speed and you already know the route and our port of destination. “Omar, help him,” he said pointing to Stephan. “Refuel and load the launch.”

Farraday headed toward the bridge and heard Germaine behind him say, almost casually, “Omar, lessen the load in the launch first. Kill him.”

Farraday turned in time to see and hear two quick puffs come from Omar's silenced pistol, hitting their target square. The deckhand in the launch had stood up, seeming to understand at the last second, and he fell almost straight back into the water. The man's feet flipping over the boat and into the water was the last sight of him.

Meeting Parker Germaine's look for only a second, Farraday shrugged dispassionately for Germaine's sake, turned and headed to the bridge.

***

After the launch had been refueled and stowed, Germaine looked utterly exhausted and called out to Stephan, “You there,” he pointed at Stephan and then at the bridge, “Go to the bridge and stay there with your Captain.”

Stephan fearfully looked toward the bridge thinking he was next in line to be shot. He took several steps and then paused, confused whether he should go or not.

Milo pulled a gun from his shoulder holster and aimed it at him.

“Go! I said. You ignorant BABOON! Go! Now,” Germaine screamed at him and pointed to the bridge where Farraday was bringing the boat around for a due north heading.

Stephan took off at a trot towards the bridge, eyes wide, expecting a shot in the back.

Germaine watched him go and then lowered his voice, “Alright, you two, I want three hour shifts down in the bay standing guard over our cargo. Down in the bay, not up here looking down at it. Got it? I'm heading to my stateroom to catch up on a little sleep. I have to be sharp tomorrow. Three hour shifts, down in the bay and no one else, no one, is allowed down there. I don't trust our two fellow shipmates up in the bridge.”

“Yes, Sir,” Milo and Omar responded together.

He looked at them for a minute longer, with drooped eyes and shoulders sagging. “Very well. Get to it. I'll be back” he said and then walked to the stairs leading down to the staterooms.

***

Down below in the cargo hold, the thing that used to be Mulhammsek Teti, son and only heir to King Makmattan, smelled the sea before it did anything. It's first bodily function in over 4,000 years. The wafer thin lungs had filled and then released. Again, there was another intake of air through a nose that wasn't really there anymore. A moment later the impossible continued, the encrusted eyelids fluttered. The bump of the container going into the cargo bay had broken the environmental lid seal of the temporary Plexiglas transport case. It had been custom made to ship the mummy to Cairo but was built more for controlling the air quality than anything else.

Along with the scented ocean air, the mummy could feel the gentle dips and sways of the big ship as it sliced through the water.

The rotted corpse now began slight movements of its extremities clenching and unclenching, tensing and relaxing muscles. One knee suddenly popped up in a strange reflex and the wrapped bone hitting the lid of the container further dislodged the weakened container. Out. It needed out. It needed to move. No thoughts were formed in the dried out husk of a body, only reflexes and jerked movements. But somehow it moved. Somehow it functioned. The feather-like wrappings around the body flaked away due to the exaggerated movements. The jaw worked up and down slowly, leathered dead skin moved with it.

***

It was nearly four o'clock in the morning. They had been underway for less than an hour. The sea was still calm and th e Shamshi r cut through the water steadily with no effort, engines running smoothly at about half speed ahead. There were no other ships on the screen and the weather couldn't have been better. On a north by northeasterly course, they were swinging straight north first, out into the Med before angling to the east. The plan was not to make a straight beeline for Netanya following the coast. That typically drew a lot more attention your way. It would mean more time but they would still make Netanya by midnight or in about twenty hours.

Farraday punched in the extension for Germaine's stateroom and waited.

A tired and sleepy voice answered, “What? What is it, Captain?”

“Mr. Germaine, sorry for the interruption, but may I have a word with you?

“Can it wait, Captain?”

“Actually, no it cannot, Mr. Germaine.”

“Well what in bloody hell is it, man? And be quick about it.”

“For the continued success of this trip, the safety of the cargo and the men on board, I request a brief rest. Two hours, or until daybreak.”

“And you feel this is absolutely necessary?”

“Yes, Mr. Germaine, I do. I can leave it on auto pilot. Stephan can stand watch and monitor the screens I tell him to. He doesn't have to touch a thing and we are in clear water.”

“Do it then.”

“I'll only be ten steps away in my stateroom.”

“I've already told you to do so, do you want me to change my mind?”

“No sir. I'll be in my room until six a.m. then, but available immediately if you should need me. Goodbye.” Farraday signed off quickly and then waited a moment to see if Germaine would call back.

He went over to a long padded bench seat where Stephan had been since being ordered to the bridge by Germaine earlier. The boy was curled up and sleeping, facing the bridge wall.

“Stephan, up and at ‘em, son. Rise and shine, boy, rise and shine.”

At the same time, down in the cargo hold, lit by two banks of fluorescent lights, Milo stared at the two wooden crate containers and fought the urge to investigate. He had walked around the crates and read the various government stamps and seals. Property of the Egyptian Government, Fragile, This Side Always Up and Keep Dr y. The normal statements and instructions were stamped and stapled on, but the word Mulhammsek was large and prominent on both containers.

The smaller crate which had whacked the cargo hold hard, had splintered slightly on one corner and he stared at it, then looked up at the closed deck doors above him and then at the shut door leading to the below deck staterooms and galley kitchen.

He could no longer resist. He needed to know what was in these containers, if he and Otto were really going to risk everything double-crossing Germaine.

***

The mummy of Mulhammsek was now fully inhabited by his ancient spirit and was quickly gaining strength. It was only partially wrapped. He was full of a blind terrible rage, animal like and horribly wild. While it had the body of a man, it could not have been less human.

Hearing the wood creaking open softly above, it predatorily froze its movements. Closing empty eye sockets, it would wait just a little longer.

Above the mummy, unaware of the life animating itself only inches below, Milo removed the splintered pieces of wood carefully using a pry bar so that they would be replaced easily. After the third slat was removed, he realized that he was looking at the head and shoulders of some sort of dead body encased in an inner plastic container.

Stepping back quickly, his mind reeled with the possibilities and explanations. Staring at the wood crate, he inched his way back and looked down at the body again. He was no expert, but he'd seen enough pictures and knew from the tattered wrapped cloth that this was a mummy, an Egyptian mummy in all likelihood. By the looks of the jewel encrusted staff that was laying beside it and clenched in one bony hand, this was most likely an Egyptian Pharaoh King. Priceless, he thought to himself.

Stunned, he was mesmerized by the body laying before him. The boat engines soft rhythmic thumping and the slight hum from the fluorescent lights were the only sounds in the cargo bay. Remembering the word he had read on both wood crates, he involuntarily said the name, almost in a semi-trance. “Mulhammsek,” Milo said aloud, a dreamy monotone voice that had almost not been his, sounding both far off and dreamlike.

The moment he said it, the body shifted. It's withered stringy neck and it's leathered, partially wrapped head turned to look in his direction.

The screams, both Milo's and Mulammsek's mummy's, reverberated through the cargo hold, high pitched and wailing like an imagined Banshee scream might be. On and on it went, Milo 's scream soon ended raggedly but the other scream, not from this world, continued for a full minute.

***

Seconds earlier, Farraday was determined to find out a little more about the two crates they had taken aboard and he walked quietly down the hallway towards the stern of the ship. Behind him, in the opposite direction were the staterooms up towards the bow. He was thankful he didn't need to walk past the rooms of Germaine and his two trained apes.

He thought that the door might be guarded but as he had peered down the hallway coming down the deck steps, he'd seen no one. There was however, a good chance that Germaine had placed one of his men inside the cargo hold so he approached quietly.

As he reached for the handle on the door, the piercing scream began, and he jumped back almost tripping over himself.

The scream was like nothing he'd ever heard, animal or human. It was a scream that no one else in this world had ever heard. It froze Farraday's blood.

He stared at the door with wide eyes and then reaching behind him, pulled his gun out deliberately. Good God above, what could that be? The scream went on, climbing to an impossible pitch. It was horrible, magnificent, and primal.

Inside the cargo hold the remarkable changes to Mulhammsek continued, impossible as they were.

***

Germaine was struggling for the surface, up and up he came. He was swimming up for consciousness and away from the nightmare. The scream was awful but he knew he was dreaming and he just had a few more feet to go. As he finally broke the surface of his dream, he gasped for air and sat ramrod straight up in bed. He was confused and disoriented, scanning his dimly lit stateroom. There was an echo of the screaming nightmare in his head, but all was quiet now. He looked at his watch, still breathing hard and sweating heavily even though the room was cool. It was 4:45 in the morning. He knew he wouldn't be getting back to sleep now, so he swung his legs off the bed and decided to go check on a few things.

Outside in the hallway Farraday stood there for several seconds but then started to back away slowly, never taking his eyes off the cargo room door at the end of the hallway. As he reached the stairway, Otto came stumbling out of his room behind Farraday, hopping up and down into his pants. He wore no shirt but had thrown his shoulder holster on. He looked tired and like he had been in a very deep sleep.

“What the -, What the hell! What was that, Farraday?” Otto said trying to see past the captain and noticing he was pointing a gun down the empty hallway.

“Cargo room. Who's in there? Milo ? Germaine? Who?” Farraday asked Otto without looking back at him.

“It's Milo , now get outta my way,” Otto said pulling his gun and shoving his way past Farraday.

“Otto there is something very wrong in that cargo hold, don't open that door,” Farraday warned as the big man got closer to the end of the hallway.

“Bullshit,” Otto said with his backed turned to the Captain and reaching for the door handle. He opened it slowly and then crouching, he threw it open hard against the inside wall. The cargo hold was dark inside and one of the ruined fluorescent light banks in the ceiling sparked and buzzed as if confirming that.

“ Milo !” What's going on? Milo , you there?”

Farraday saw Otto take another step into the darkness. Something appeared behind him for a split second, just an apparition really, a figure that defied description. Farraday aimed quickly with both hands and squeezed off a risky shot, but missed high right as the figure had already moved out of the doorway.

The Captain's hand, fumbling around behind him, found the rail to the steps above deck. He took the steps two at a time and heard the terrible screaming start once more as he closed the main deck door. Locking it, he turned quickly to head up the next flight of stairs to the bridge.

Stephan stood at the top of the steps with sheer terror in his eyes.

“Sir, please, what is it?” he whispered, shaking uncontrollably.

“Stephan, I'm stopping the boat and I want you to swing the launch around and drop it” Farraday ordered and then snapped at the deckhand, “Do it NOW!”

As the Captain barreled up the bridge stairway, he grabbed Stephan and shoved him out on deck. “Uncouple, swing out and drop the launch! Now, do it now! He repeated over his shoulder. The long unnatural screaming down below continued unabated.

As he rushed onto the bridge he immediately throttled all the way down, then killed the engines. A boat this big would need several minutes to stop its forward motion completely, but they'd have to do the best they could with the launch.

***

Coming out of his stateroom, Germaine was dressed but still drowsy, He closed his door behind him and then whipped around when the awful wailing scream started. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the open cargo room door down at the end of the hallway. The awful piercing scream just kept on and it was coming from the cargo hold, there could be no doubt.

He realized that he had forgotten his gun in the room, typically depending on Otto and Milo for that, but he was going to need it this time. Ducking back inside his stateroom, he grabbed his pistol off the nightstand and walked quickly back out his door. He suddenly felt the boat slow dramatically and then heard the engines cut out completely. He looked up trying to listen and he could vaguely hear some kind of commotion going on topside.

Confused now, he glanced down the hallway again. There at the end, with the cargo door shut behind him now, was a man he'd never seen before. No one had seen him since the time when the pyramids were new.

His skin was the very darkest shade of brown, almost black. It had a healthy sheen and his sharply defined muscles stood out dramatically in the hallway lights. On his forearms and biceps he wore thick gold bands. His royal, tapered facial features were made up exquisitely, a mask of heavy black eyebrows with crimson red and sky blue shades on his cheeks and forehead. His King's headdress, an elongated solid gold skullcap, was so tall it almost scraped the ceiling. His dark blue robe inlaid with gold designs and patterns, his jewel encrusted scepter and the gold leaf slippers he wore were magnificent.

Germaine, already half out of his mind and frozen in place, could not tear away from its gaze. Down at the other end Mulhammsek stared at him with his head bowed slightly and the corners of his mouth slightly turned up, as if grinning. The dramatic dark eyebrow and eyelid face paint accentuated that stare.

The pharaoh locking Germaine with his new shark eyes that were black as coal, stepped gracefully forward with his gold staff. Outside the muffled sound of the launch hit the water above them with a slap and then thumped the side of yacht hard as the larger vessel continued its forward momentum. Germaine heard none of it. Mulhammsek stopped briefly with the noise and commotion but kept staring at him. The pharaoh was motionless now, with an expression of pure evil and a subtle, knowing smile.

With topside quiet again, Mulhammsek continued his slow walk toward Germaine and when he had passed the stairway in the middle of the boat, it was too late. Too late for Germaine because he now had no way up to the deck, except through, or around the Pharaoh.

Seconds later a blood curdling scream came ripping up from below deck, just as Farraday and Stephan had pushed off from the Shamshir. The smaller launch engine caught but it could not be heard over the horrible wailing from below.

Farraday could have sworn he heard Parker Germaine's scream for a moment, a higher pitched wail intermingled with the primal sound of the thing he had seen.

***

Around midnight of the third day, Farraday and Stephan had pulled into the port town of Amethous on the southern edge of Cyprus . They quietly docked the launch, got out and simply walked away. Each going their own way, neither would speak of the Shamsir again.

Almost a week later, the Shamshir was boarded by an Egyptian Navy frigate after she had drifted aimlessly onto a sandbar near the mouth of the Nile . When they found no bodies on board, but many disturbing signs of a struggle, they chalked it up to piracy. It was likely all the bodies had been thrown overboard. Beyond that, there were no clear answers.

They had also partially solved the mystery around the theft of the Egyptian Pharaoh. His sarcophagus was found intact, but the body of Mulhammsek had been taken off the boat and the case was still considered open and being aggressively pursued.

About two miles inland from that sandbar, there had been a significant clue, a clue that no one would ever be aware of. Two gold leaf slippers were discarded and then found by a farmer on the muddy bank of the Nile . The secretive farmer had told no one, eventually melting the slippers down and selling a large gold nugget in the marketplace near his farm.

Traveling exclusively at night, Mulhammsek relentlessly headed south, heading back to the Valley of the Kings .

As he walked, his footprints disappeared behind him.