Outside the heavily draped windows the sounds of traffic moving in Whitehall could be heard. Big Ben chimed eleven in the distance. Lord barker took his gold half hunter from his breast pocket and checked the time. He sighed again and put the watch back. It showed the correct time. He knew it would but he had checked it anyway. He was bored. He had an important cabinet meeting at noon and he was reasonably up to date with his various papers. His permanent secretary had been in to remind him of an evening dinner appointment and he mentally ticked off the items of clothing he would wear. Not only women worried about their appearance. It was an important dinner. He was hoping to hear,(unofficially of course), about his pending appointment to the Ministry of Defence : The War office, as it was currently being called.
It was a major step up the ladder and he knew his radical ideas about the war was instrumental in his rapid rise. He smiled inwardly. At forty nine, he would be one of the youngest Ministers of defence to have served in His Majesty's Government.
"A parcel for you, sir." A tall thin man said from the doorway. Lord Barker had hardly heard his door open.
"Thank you, Evesham." He replied, taking the small package and placing it on his desk. Evesham closed the door. Lord Barker stared at the nondescript looking parcel. There was no postage.
"Delivered by hand." He thought as he cut the string binding and unwrapped the brown paper. Inside was a smallish card box with a lift off lid, not unlike a shoe box. Lord Barker removed the lid and lifted out an object rolled in oilskin. He hefted the item in his hands. Not particularly heavy. He unrolled the oilskin to reveal a small statuette of a sitting cat. The piece looked waxy, almost damp. He took the object in his hand and put the oilskin in the box as he studied the statuette.
Almost instantly, he dropped the cat to the floor. His hand was burning where he had held the figure. He scratched frantically at the skin but stopped dead in his tracks when a deep, resonant voice said to him,
"You have defiled the Queens rest. For that, you must die."
His head snapped up to see a tall dark figure clad solely in dirty brown strips of rag. Tattered fragments of skin clung to an exposed skull. The eye sockets were empty. Lord Barker began to scream and back away, a look of total terror masking his face. He shielded his eyes from the vision but still he could see the advancing nightmare. The figure looked at him blindly, the skin parched on the face, taught shreds of hair barely attached to the dry, cracked skull.
The heart attack was massive.
Evesham burst into the office to find Lord Barker slumped over a crushed card box on the desk. The small statuette lay on the floor. Otherwise, the room was empty.
Chapter1. Don't touch.
October 24th, 1940
It was 4.30 in the afternoon on a cold, wet day. Leaves rustled loudly on sweeping branches as they showered raindrops on passers by, stooped, huddled into their collars and scarves. The college campus was quiet, save the odd students running, coats held over their heads, toward the museum faculty.
Inside, all was quiet, in a library kind of way. Various college professors and students stood in groups here and there studying some artefact or relic as the lecturer went about his business of explaining the significance of the particular piece.
One such group stood listening attentively to their professor as he held up a small squat green jade figure.
He was tall, dark haired and had a weather-beaten kind of rugged handsomeness that the girl students adored, and the boys envied but admired. He wore glasses at times but this only highlighted his look of worldly wisdom.
"So find out about this piece, where it was FIRST discovered and make sure you talk about its' significance over the other pieces. Work to be in next Wednesday." Then, as if remembering something, he added, "Make it Thursday. Morning." Then he smiled and said, "Class over for today. If you want to see me about your dissertations I'll be in my office all day tomorrow."
A gentle murmur of idle chatter broke out among the students as they drifted away in various directions, some passing a much shorter, stocky older man walking toward them.
The professor looked up from packing papers into a worn, shabby old brief case. The shorter man smiled and said, "Indy, I was looking for you. I didn't know you were taking a lesson in Japanese artefacts." He gestured around at the section of the museum they were standing in.
"Hello Marcus." Indy replied. "Just catching up on some missing work from last semester."
Marcus smiled, recalling Indy's three month absence a short time ago when he was off chasing the past once again.
"Want a coffee?" Indy said, hefting his heavy briefcase and moving toward the main door.
"Actually, there are some men coming to see you. That's why I've been looking for you."
Indy screwed up his nose and said, "Now what. Whenever anyone wants to see me it usually leads to trouble."
Marcus laughed. "Don't be such a pessimist." He said. "They have come all the way from England. The British Museum, in fact." Indy's face brightened. The British Museum was known the world over and anyone from such a distinguished place would surely be worth listening to. It also boosted Indy's ego somewhat to think that people of such eminence would travel so far to see him in particular.
"I wonder what they want to see me about." He said, holding the main door for Marcus, then himself running for the museum office building some fifty yards away, trying desperately to reach the door and shelter and escape the now torrential rain.
Indy reached the door first and burst through, closely followed by Marcus, both yelling childishly and feeling very foolish about their behaviour. Marcus bent forward, leaning on his knees, gasping and laughing at the same time.
"You're getting old." Indy joked, himself breathing deeply and feeling his age. He wasn't twenty one any more.
"Doctor Jones?" Said a dry voice, with a very British accent.
Indy and Marcus were snapped back to reality instantly and Marcus coughed to cover his apparent embarrassment.
Indy wasn't so easily flustered. He stood up straight, some six inches taller than his new visitor, brushed wet hair from his face and said, "And you sir, are who?"
The man was of medium build and wore a dark suit of expensive tailoring. His shoes were so clean and shiny they almost seemed to be impervious to rain and looked completely dry regardless of the fact it had been raining steadily all day. He wore small, steel rimmed glasses which he removed and polished between finger and thumb with his handkerchief.
"My name is Smith. Graham Smith. I am Professor of Egyptology at the British Museum."
"I was told you would be arriving tomorrow." Said Marcus.
Indy gave a sly smile and said, "I know you British are always supposed to be on time, but don't you think this taking things a bit far?"
Professor Smith smiled, taking Indy's proffered hand and shaking it warmly. "I'm afraid this is no laughing matter, Dr. Jones. Serious events are afoot and I need your help. I am afraid I feel that I can't trust anyone else."
Marcus gestured down the corridor to Indy's office and led the way.
"Sit down, Professor Smith." Said Indy as they entered his small, crowded study. Smith looked around at the piles of books and papers and thought how untidy it was compared to the ordered neatness of his own office in London. He sat on the chair Indy indicated as he himself sat on the corner of his desk. Marcus went to a constantly bubbling coffee percolator and poured three cups without asking. He passed one to Indy and one to Professor Smith, then took a long slow sip from his own.
The moments silence was broken by Indy as he said, "And what are these 'serious events' you speak of?"
Smith sipped his coffee and stared at the surface of the liquid in his cup for a moment. Then he looked up, first at Indy, then at Marcus.
"Do you know much about Cleopatra?" He looked at Indy for an answer.
"Sure." He replied.
"Queen of the Nile. Around fifty BC if I recall.
"Sixty eight to thirty BC actually."
Indy and Professor Smith both turned to look at Marcus, who had just spoken.
"Very good, Dr. Brody." Said Professor Smith. Indy nodded, smiling.
Smith continued, saying, "Cleopatra ascended to the throne after the death of her father, Ptolemy XII in fifty one BC. She was famed, as I am sure you will know, for her incredible beauty."
Indy interrupted him, adding, " She became Julius Caesars mistress and gave him a son."
Marcus then added, excitedly, "He was called Caesarius and because he was delivered by cutting into the Queens womb, we have the word Caesarean."
Professor Smith was impressed.
"I can see I have come to the right place. You two obviously know your Egyptology."
Both Indy and Marcus smiled. The professors tone changed and he said more quietly, "What do you know about the Queens death and burial?"
"Indy shrugged and said, "Much the same as anyone, I guess. She committed suicide by poisoning herself with a snake!"
He closed his eyes and shuddered at the thought. Marcus smiled inwardly, thinking about his friends life long fear of the creatures and added, "She was entombed at Alexandria and the site was raided countless times over the years. There's not much left now. That's about it, I suppose."
"Very good gentlemen. Now, let me fill in a few gaps in your knowledge." The professor then laid his attaché case on the table and opened it. He drew out a slim card folder of papers and for an instant, Indy glimpsed the shiny barrel of a pistol before the case was closed again.
The professor laid the folder on the table and took out the papers. He studied them for a moment, then said, "Do you recall a few years ago, someone claiming to have found one of the rooms of the lost library of Alexandria?"
Indy gave a sarcastic laugh and looked at Marcus. "Remember it? I spent two months following the trail. There was nothing apart from a few scrolls of dubious age and even more dubious authenticity. They had turned up at a mixed sale of antiquities at Sotheby's."
The professor nodded. "Well, it seems that a few more such scrolls have come to light and the authenticity of these is beyond question. They are documented elsewhere and appear to be from the Lost library."
Marcus leaned forward, intensely interested. Old books and writings were of particular interest to him personally. He looked at Indy. and said, "If this is true, then the knowledge of the past we could uncover would be of immense value."
Indy nodded but remained more than a little sceptical.
"I should like to see such scrolls myself." He said.
The doctor nodded to him enthusiastically. "There's more." He said. "One of the scrolls indicates that there are detailed records regarding the exact whereabouts of Cleopatras final resting place."
Indy shook his head, puzzled. "But that's no secret. The location has been known for years. I've been there myself."
The professor shook his head vigorously. " No, no, no. " He said. "There has always been some doubt as to whether the tomb actually contained Cleopatra. The old Pharaos always went to great lengths to protect the inner chambers from grave robbers and thieves, constructing elaborate traps and false passages. Yet Cleopatras tomb was not so guarded. In fact, it has always been a puzzle as to WHY it was so easy to rob."
"You mean it was some kind of red herring?" Said Marcus, growing more interested by the minute in the tale.
"That is what we now think." Said the professor.
"And Cleopatra was actually buried somewhere else." Indy added. The professor looked at Indy and nodded slowly.
"So you want me to go and find the library, locate the real tomb and find Cleopatra?"
The professor polished his glasses again. "Not quite, Dr. Jones." He said. "I have no interest in finding the treasures of Cleopatra. I fear someone has already beaten us to it."
Indy looked puzzled.
"Well, what DO you plan to do?"
The professor looked from the face of Indy, to Marcus, then back to Indy.
"I want to put certain treasures back, and hide the tomb again."
Indy stared, hardly believing what he had heard.
"You mean, the tomb of Cleopatra has actually been found?"
"As I already said, Dr. Jones, we think so."
"And you have evidence?" Marcus said.
Again, the professor looked from face to face, then, drawing a deep breath, he opened his case again. Both Indy and Marcus clearly saw the gun now and the professor saw them exchange glances. "A precautionary measure, I am afraid. Many people would dearly like to get hold of the contents of this case."
Indy and Marcus leaned forward, peering at a small lump, wrapped tightly in damp oilskin lying in the bottom of the case.
The professor took a pair of old leather gloves from his pocket and put them on.
"Do you have a few old sheets of paper?" He asked.
"Uh, sure." Indy replied, pulling some scrap paper from the bottom of a pile of oddments. The professor took the paper and laid it on the table, then carefully lifted the wrapped bundle from the case, placing it gingerly on the paper.
"Now, gentlemen, please trust me when I tell you not to touch what I am about to show you." Indy was about to say something but the professor cut him short.
"I do not say this to offend you, or to make you believe that the object is fragile or something. On the contrary. It is extremely robust but also very dangerous to touch. I will explain it all in a moment."
Carefully with his gloved hands, the professor unrolled the oilskin to show a small wooden carving of a sitting cat. It was almost black but both Indy and Marcus could see that it was slippery, waxy, almost wet and this may have contributed to its dark appearance.
"Late Egyptian carving of a cat. So what?" Indy said. "I've seen dozens of them."
"Not like this one, Dr. Jones." The professor said. "Look closely at the inscription around the neck."
Indy took a small pair of wire framed spectacles from his breast pocket, perched them on his nose and bent forward.
"Do not touch anything!" The professor warned sternly.
Indy looked at the small hieroglyphics carved into the figure for a moment, then said, "It's some kind of prayer, a grace, about the possessor of the figure obtaining life everlasting in the next world.
Typical kind of blessing found on most Egyptian funerary figures."
The professor nodded. Exactly what we first surmised." He said. "But, Dr. Jones," He continued.
"Could it say anything else?"
Indy and Marcus were both nonplussed.
"How could it say something else?" Marcus said, looking at Indy.
Indy nodded, beginning to grasp what the professor was getting at. "You mean, could the translation be interpreted in another way?"
The professor was almost hopping with excitement. "You have a quick mind, Dr. Jones." He said.
Indy scratched his head and turned toward the window. It was still raining heavily and students flitted from shelter to shelter across the campus.
"One problem with hieroglyphics has always been different peoples interpretations of the structure of the sentences. We're not sure how Egyptians put sentences together two or three thousand years ago, so how we read their writing now is based largely on modern grammatical structure." He nodded, turning back to the professor. "Sure, I get what you mean. The words may mean something different to how we read them."
He looked back at the carving. "You obviously have all this thought through already." He said.
Professor Smith scratched at his ear and said, "When this figure was passed to us, it had already claimed two lives."
Indy laughed and was about to speak but professor Smith put his hand up. "Hear me out, gentlemen." He said. "My associates and I came to the same conclusion as you when we first translated the inscription. The words offered everlasting life in the next world and a freedom from the pain of this life."
"Seems a fair translation. "Marcus said.
"We thought so too." Smith replied. "However, one of my associates wasn't so sure and worked for a long time using old texts as a basis for translation. He came up with a different version." From the case, the professor drew a sheet of paper and passed it to Indy who took it and read out the words written on it.
"Whosoever should enter the tomb and behold the Queen shall live in pain and torment in this world and shall be delivered unto the next by one of thirteen."
"One of thirteen. What do you suppose that means." Marcus asked. The professor opened his mouth to reply but Indy answered for him.
"There are thirteen cats and anyone who touches one of them will die."
"Very good, Dr. Jones." Smith said. Indy smiled and said, "I know of the stories of the thirteen cats. They have always been though an Egyptian myth."
"They are no myth, Dr, Jones." Smith said, taking the paper back and replacing it in his case.
Marcus spoke up, more than a little puzzled. "I'm sorry, gentlemen but what are the thirteen cats?"
Indy took a large book from one of his shelves and flicked through the pages. He opened the book wide on an illustration of a cat statue and laid the book on the table. The picture was remarkably similar to the small statuette professor Smith had. Then Indy continued, "Cleopatra was always very superstitious and when her lover, Julius Caesar was murdered on the thirteenth of march, she began the now famous story of bad luck on that date. She was so afraid, that the number thirteen was all but stricken from the calendar and she would stay in her private chambers all day, each month on the thirteenth. It was she who chose thirteen cats to protect her in the afterlife, believing they would rein bad luck on any who desecrated her final resting place. The cats have always been though to be no more than a tale, mythical, even, as there was never any sign of them when her tomb was opened."
"That is because we were looking in the wrong tomb. "Smith interrupted, excitedly. "Don't you see?"
"So you think this is one of those cats, from Cleopatra's actual tomb. "Indy said, doubtfully. The professor nodded.
"And you think that touching it will actually kill you?" Marcus added, sceptically.
The professor smiled, and said, "Gentlemen. Let me tell you a short, but rather important story. A story about a friend of mine. Lord Barker, A member of Parliament. A member of His Majesty's government. Or should I say, he was."
Indy looked at Smith and said, "Was? What happened? Was he fired? Did he leave?" Then, turning to Marcus, he laughed as he said, "Did he steal the Crown jewels?"
Professor Smith continued to stare closely at the ancient writing on the statue as he replied. "No, Dr. Jones." He said.
"He is dead." He looked up Sharply and added, "His only crime was to touch this figure."
Smith then recounted the story of the demise of Lord Barker some two weeks earlier.
"Obviously, I have surmised certain aspects of the tale but we are fairly sure that what I have told you is reasonably accurate."
When he had finished, both Indy and Marcus looked closely at the cat statuette. "And you are sure this little fellow is to blame. "Indy said, poking at the figure with a pencil.
The professor promptly took the pencil from Indy and carefully dropped it in a bin. Indy raised his eyebrows.
"Believe me, Dr. Jones. It is VERY dangerous. And yes, we believe the cat to be the cause of Lord Barkers' death."
Indy stared closely at the cat again and noting the slick, waxy surface, said, "Then the surface is coated with some kind of toxic venom. That would explain why you don't want anyone to touch it."
"Correct, Dr. Jones." Smith replied. "But the poison has not been recently added. We have tested the figure and have found the strange coating to be impregnated deep into the wood. It is original and we are not sure what the poison is. No one has been able to identify it. What I can tell you is that it is almost instantly absorbed through the skin and acts extremely quickly."
"So the inscription is right." Added Marcus. "Anyone touching the cat would die. A pretty powerful curse."
"Just so." Dr. Brody. Smith replied.
"And you say there are more of them out there somewhere?" Marcus said, realising the full danger of the statuettes.
"We know of ten of them." Professor Smith said, carefully wrapping the cat in the oilskin again and returning it to the case. "Four have been used to murder high ranking officials in parliament. Three were retrieved from the rooms of a colleague of mine. A certain Dr, Ballard. Sadly, it seems, he is part of some evil plot to use them to overthrow the government. He had escaped before the police could apprehend him but fortunately not before we had recovered the three cats."
"And what of the other three?" Marcus said.
"They turned up near the site of a lesser dig at Alexandria. Again, it was one of my colleagues who found them. A professor. Professor Benson. We are not sure where he got them from."
"Didn't he say? Why not ask him?" Indy asked, but he thought he knew the answer as soon as he had asked the question. Smith nodded, almost sensing Indy's realisation of the truth. "Yes, he too was dead. He had been dead for some time in his rooms. His absence was noticed at the dig and one of our assistants went to find him."
"Did he..." Marcus began.
"No, Dr. Brody. Fortunately for him, he didn't touch the figures. He simply didn't see them. He came straight to the dig and told us what he had found. It was Dr. Levington, a great friend and worthy scholar who picked up one of the cats when we arrived. They were under the body of professor Benson. As soon as Dr. Levington picked up the figure, he began raving. Almost immediately, dropping the statuette, screaming at some unseen person or thing to keep away from him. He was clearly terrified. He suffered a massive heart attack on the spot. If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I would never have believed it. That was the first time I had come across the cats. Ever since then people have been dying. I didn't connect anything at first, not until my friend, Lord Barker died. Then I found out three other prominent members of His Majesty's government had died in similar circumstances. The museum recovered the four cats from the police, who believe it is no more than the work of a maniac, poisoning M.P's. I have a friend at Scotland Yard who said we could take the cats they had in their possession, to make further studies, maybe to help in their enquiries."
Indy stared out of the window for a while.
"Quite a story." He said.
"We need your help Dr. Jones." Smith said, almost pleading.
Indy kept his back turned to both Smith and Marcus. Neither could guess what he was thinking. Then he turned and said, "I'm sorry, Professor. But I can't see what I can do to help. You clearly know more about this particular subject than I do. And anyway, surely it's a matter for the British police, not an American archaeologist, although please, let me say I'm flattered that you think I could help."
Smith was clearly thinking on his feet. He had not expected a refusal from Indy. He almost blurted the words. "Dr. Jones. We think the Nazis' are behind this. If they could get the missing figures, assuming they haven't already got them, and if they passed them to members of the war office, or possibly the American senate, then it could turn the whole tide of events in their favour."
Suddenly, Indy was interested. "What makes you think they are going to start on American Senators?" He said.
"We found a calendar, as well as the three cats, among the things at Ballards house when the place was searched . There was a date ringed in ink. December the third."
"So?" Indy asked, shrugging his shoulders.
"There is a major meeting of British M.P's and your government on that date." Smith replied quietly. "Your people are coming to England. It will be a gathering of some of the most influential people in the war."
Indy considered for a moment. "So you have ten cats. The four from the murders, the three from this Ballard characters house, and three from the site in Alexandria. That leaves three out there somewhere." He scratched at his chin. "Wait here." He said, and strode out of the study in the direction of his private apartments down the corridor. Professor Smith stared at Marcus, who only shrugged his shoulders. "More coffee?" He ventured.
Five, then ten minutes passed.
"Where has he gone?" Smith asked, more than a little perplexed. At that moment, the door opened and there, standing framed in the doorway was a tall man, dressed in a shabby khaki drill shirt and cavalry trousers. He wore a very worn brown leather jacket and perched jauntily forwards on his head was a weather-beaten fedora. He had a bullwhip hitched to his belt.
"What are we waiting for." He said.
The man with the hat was back.
To be continued.....
