Sahara by Clive Cussler Page A

to bed early.” God, this is awful, she thought. I’m acting like a girl meeting her date for a freshman prom.
    “A great pity. I’d planned to stay out all night and show you every den of iniquity and sin pot in Cairo. All the exotic spots unfrequented by tourists.”
    “Are you serious?”
    Pitt laughed. “Not really. Actually, I thought it wise if we dine in your hotel and stay off the streets. Your friends might have it in their heads to try again.”
    She looked around the crowded lobby. “The hotel is packed. We’ll be lucky to get a table.”
    “I have reservations,” Pitt said, taking her by the hand and leading her into the elevator that rose to the posh restaurant on the top floor of the hotel.
    Like most women, Eva liked a take-charge man. She also liked the way he kept his light but firm grip on her hand on the ride up to the restaurant.
    The maître d’ showed them to a table beside a window with a spectacular view of Cairo and the Nile. A universe of lights sparkled in the evening haze. The bridges over the river were jammed with honking autos that fanned out on the streets and mingled with the horse-drawn delivery wagons and tourist carriages.
    “Unless you prefer a cocktail,” said Pitt, “I suggest that we stay with wine.”
    Eva nodded and flashed a satisfied smile. “Fine by me. Why don’t you order the courses as well?”
    “I love an adventurous soul,” he smiled. He studied the wine list briefly. “We’ll try a bottle of Grenaclis Village.”
    “Very good,” the waiter said. “One of our best local dry white wines.”
    Pitt then ordered an appetizer dip of ground sesame seeds with eggplant, a yogurt dish called leban zabadi, and a tray of pickled vegetables with a basket of whole wheat pita bread.
    After the wine came and was poured, Pitt raised his glass. “Here’s to a safe and successful field expedition. May you find all the answers.”
    “And to your river survey,” she said as they clinked glasses. Then a curious expression came into her eyes. “Just what is it you’re looking for?”
    “Ancient shipwrecks. One in particular. A funeral barge.”
    “Sounds fascinating. Anybody I know?”
    “A pharaoh of Old Kingdom called Menkura or Mycerinus, if you prefer the Greek spelling. He reigned during the Fourth Dynasty and built the smallest of the three pyramids at Giza.”
    “Wasn’t he entombed in his pyramid?”
    “In 1830 a British army colonel found a body in a sarcophagus inside the burial chamber, but analysis of the remains proved it came from either the Greek or Roman periods.”
    The appetizers were brought and they looked down at them with happy anticipation. They dipped fried slices of eggplant into the sesame seed dip and relished the pickled vegetables. While the waiter stood by, Pitt ordered the main course.
    “Why do you think Menkura is in the river?” asked Eva.
    “Hieroglyphic inscriptions on a stone that was recently discovered at an old quarry near Cairo show that his funeral barge caught fire and sank in the river between the ancient capital of Memphis and his pyramid tomb at Giza. The stone indicates his true sarcophagus, complete with his mummy and a vast amount of gold, was never recovered.”
    The yogurt arrived, thick and creamy. Eva stared at it hesitantly.
    “Try it,” goaded Pitt. “Not only will leban zabadi spoil your taste for American yogurt, but it straightens out the intestines.”
    “Curdles, you mean.” She played dainty and jabbed her tongue at a minute scoop in her spoon. Impressed, she began putting it away in earnest. “So what happens if you find the barge? Do you get to keep the gold?”
    “Hardly,” Pitt replied. “Once our detection instruments have a promising target, we mark the site and turn the position over to archaeologists from the Egyptian Organization of Antiquities. After they obtain the necessary funding, their people will excavate, or in this case, dredge for artifacts.”
    “Isn’t the wreck just