Title: Cats in the Cradle of
Civilization
Author: C. L. Kraemer
ISBN: 978-1-62420-127-1
Genre: Suspense
Excerpt Heat Level:
Book Heat Level: 1
Glenda
Nagel, editor for Getty Museum’s monthly magazine loves her home in the Juniper
Hills and her cats. When an ivory and emerald statuette of the cat goddess
Bastet makes its way to her home and sets her cats on edge, Glenda is panicked.
Who
knows about his and why has the darkly handsome, new Director of Egyptian
Antiquities become so determined to visit her high desert home? Doesn’t Egypt
have enough sand?
EXCERPT
Lifting the lid
of the innocuous, wooden box sitting in the middle of his desk, Dabir Omar Ben
Rashid Yacoub Riyadh allowed a smile to transform his bronzed features. His
ebony eyes glinted as they slid appreciatively over the form resting on straw
packing. Unconsciously, his tanned finger reached to stroke the artifact. He
stopped, hand poised in midair, as his mind flashed to the photo of the
hieroglyphics painted over the doorway of the vault posted on the internet at
the Cairo museum's site. There was a warning regarding misery and eating one's
self. Omar Riyadh didn't put much stock in the curses carved on crypts
thousands of years ago, but recent scientific studies of the germs entombed
made him cautious, nonetheless. He reached into the desk drawer to his right,
and removed a pair of surgical gloves from the opened container. Slipping his
hands into the milliliter thin second skin, he lightly ran a finger over the
relic resting inside the box.
Gingerly, he
picked up the detailed piece, jumping at the buzz of his intercom. As he felt
the artifact slip from his fingers, he cursed. Inspection of the new object
d'art assured him no damage had come to it. He punched the button on his
intercom.
"What?"
he growled.
Sharp, snapping
sounds assaulted his ears. "Uhm, Mr. Riyadh?"
"Yes?"
The popping
sounds filled the air. "Uh, Dr. Burkhardt and Ms. Nagel are here."
"I'll be out
in a moment; tell them to have a seat." I must speak to Miss Showers
regarding her office demeanor. This gum popping will have to cease.
Omar reclosed the
lid of the small box and slid the package into his bottom drawer, surgical
gloves resting on the top. Bits of straw littered his desk. He looked around
his office and, spying the large shipping crate sent to him by his cousin
Feneku, hastily ripped open the top pulling out a clay vase, and setting it on
the spot where the little treasure had sat.
He stood and
straightened his tie, then opened the door to face the Director and Miss Nagel.
Karl Burkardt,
Getty Museum Director, made the formal introductions.
"Glenda
Nagel, let me introduce Dr. Dabir Omar Ben Rashid Yacoub Riyadh, our new
Egyptian Antiquities Director. Dr. Riyadh comes to us after many years working
in the Egyptian antiquities system and on several important digs in the Valley
of the Kings. His last post was in the Cairo Museum.
"Dr. Dabir
Omar Ben Rashid Yacoub Riyadh, allow me to introduce you to Glenda Nagel,
contributing Editor to the Museum's publication, Archaeology in Today's
World."
Omar extended his
hand.
"Please…
just call me Omar. All the other stuff has meaning only in my country. Omar is
much simpler. I am pleased to make your acquaintance." He wrapped a
velvety smooth, copper colored hand around Glenda's squeezing gently and gazing
intensely into her turquoise eyes.
Glenda's hand
tingled. Her heart skipped a beat, and breath suspended in her lungs. Slipping
her appendage from Omar's, she replied, "My pleasure".
Director
Burkhardt launched into Glenda's achievements droning on endlessly about her
taking on the dying magazine and reviving the publication.
She felt herself
flushing at the lavish compliments the Director was heaping on her.
"Please,
Director Burkhardt…" Glenda dropped her gaze to the floor.
"It is well
deserved, young lady. You've helped to breathe new life into this institution.
As much as we would like to function without the public's help, we do need
them. Your efforts have paved the way to a successful partnership."
He continued,
"Now, Omar. The reason I've brought Glenda here today is, she'll be in
need of your expertise, on occasion, to guarantee the information we impart to
the public is correct. Please extend her all the resources at your
disposal." He glanced at his watch. "If you two don't mind, I've a
meeting with the Budget Committee. Can you carry this without my help?"
Both nodded.
"Good. Then,
I expect to see our magazine, as well as our visitor numbers, thrive."
Turning on a
heel, Director Burkhardt exited leaving the magazine editor and new antiquities
director glancing nervously at each other.
Omar motioned for
Glenda to take a seat.
"Please feel
free to contact me at any time." He pulled a business card from the holder
on his desk and scribbled something on the back. "This is my home phone.
Should you have a question that arises after business hours, do not hesitate to
call." He shoved the card past the vase to Glenda.
Taking the card,
Glenda eyed the clay vase on the desk.
"This isn't
authentic ancient Egyptian, is it?" She leaned toward the vessel and squint
her eyes to take in the details.
Omar loosed a
deep, baritone laugh.
Glenda felt her
skin rise in goose bumps at the pleasant sound washing over her ears.
"Yes and no.
All the authentic antiquities, we store in a room in the basement with
monitored temperature and humidity control. We wouldn't want something the
desert has preserved for thousands of years destroyed by today's harmful
pollution.
"This,"
Omar picked up the vase, "is my cousin's handiwork and he is from Egypt.
He sent it to show me what he has been creating for the tourist business he
runs; in case someone decides to try to pass it off as an antiquity." Omar
smiled as he replaced the vase. "His heart was in a good place."
Glenda ran a
slender finger over the smoothness of the vase's surface.
"This is
quite lovely. Your cousin is a talented artisan."
Omar nodded.
"That, he is. I have told him he should come to America and start a
pottery factory, but he loves Egypt too much to leave. He sells enough goods to
own two Mercedes, and put his five children through college."
The two chuckled
as Glenda continued to admire the simple designs on the pottery.
"Miss
Nagel?"
"Hmmm?"
"You have a
question?"
"What? Oh,
yes. I wanted to ask if you could direct me where to start research to verify a
story one of my freelancers recently sent."
"I'll try.
Can you relate what your writer has so far?"
"Well,
according to his source, there was a little known Princess named, Kia, who fled
to Yemen to be concealed from the sadistic Pharaoh to whom she was promised in
marriage. Rumors had been leaking from unknown sources in the palace that his
former queens had met Ra under suspicious circumstances. Kia's protector, and
nursemaid, hired a boat for the two to flee down the Red Sea where they landed
on the Yemen shores at a place known today as Al-Hudaydah. The nursemaid's
family had been slowly migrating from there to the town of Ta'izz, so the pair
trekked to Ta'izz. Things went well for a while. The little Princess adapted,
as most children are wont to do, and seemed to be thriving in her new home. As
the story goes, she contracted some unknown illness a couple months after
arriving, and died very quickly. Writings, recently uncovered, indicate the
Pharaoh had located the whereabouts of his young fiancé and, in a fit of rage,
ordered her death along with all who had defied him by stealing her away. To
keep the image of himself as a divine entity, he buried the Princess in a royal
tomb telling all she succumbed to forces from the underworld. He would have saved
her had she been by his side but, unable to move with enough speed, he arrived
too late. He gave no one the tomb's location.
"Now, mind
you, all of this had been hearsay passed from generation to generation until
this point. My freelancer also sent these photos."
Glenda handed
pictures taken in the tomb to Omar.
He thumbed
through each pausing on the last shot.
She watched his
eyes scrutinize the details.
Handing them back
to Glenda, a slight smile crossed his face. "These could have been taken
at any tomb in the Egypt, Saudi Arabia area; there are so many. I have heard
the story you tell me. It is similar to your American fable of the Lost
Dutchman's Goldmine; everyone has been told the story, and is certain they know
the true location. I'll be happy to start the search in my library to see if I
can, at least, verify the Princess existed. When do you need the
information?"
Glenda gathered
the photos and stood up. "You don't need to do this, Dr."
Omar, grinning
broadly, waved a hand in the air. "It is no problem. It will help me to
get my bearings here, and help a fellow employee."
She blushed,
"Thank you. If I need the writer to redo the story, I'll have to get it
back to him by the end of the week. Will that be enough time?"
Omar nodded.
"Thank you,
Dr. Riyadh. I appreciate the time you're lending to this. I'll leave my number
with your secretary if you need to get in touch."
She walked into
the outer room. Nodding at the Director's secretary, she left. The new director
was good looking, all right. He sent sparks up her spine, but something just
didn't sit well with her. Glenda shook her head as she entered her office.
"Any
messages, Amunet?"
The young woman
behind the computer screen looked up. "No. How did the meeting go? Is he
handsome?"
"I think I
can honestly say he is the most handsome man I've ever met."
Amunet raised her
eyebrows. "He can't be that good looking."
Glenda stopped
and turned to her assistant. "Compared to Dr. Riyadh, Brad Pitt is
homely."
"Wow."
"That's an understatement.
I'll be in my office pulling out my hair. Buzz me only if the building's on
fire. On second thought, don't. If everything goes up in flames, I won't have
to worry about it." Glenda flashed a grin and closed her door. The
magazine deadline was looming, and she needed a lead story with undisputable
facts.
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