To say Carter Kane was confused would be an understatement.
He and his father had just flown into Heathrow after a couple of delays. It was a drizzly, cold afternoon. The whole taxi ride into the city, his dad seemed kind of nervous.
Now, Carter's dad is a big guy. You wouldn't think anything could make him nervous. He had dark brown skin like Carter's, piercing brown eyes, a bald head, and a goatee, so he looks like a buff evil scientist. That afternoon he wore his cashmere winter coat and his best brown suit, the one he used for public lectures. Usually he exudes so much confidence that he dominates any room he walks into, but sometimes— like that afternoon—Carter saw another side to him that he didn't really understand. He kept looking over his shoulder like they were being hunted.
"Dad?" Carter said as they were getting off the A-40. "What's wrong?"
"No sign of them," he muttered. Then he must've realized he'd spoken aloud, because he looked at Carter kind of startled. "Nothing, Carter. Everything's fine."
This bothered Carter, because his dad's a terrible liar. He always knew when he was hiding something, but he also knew no amount of pestering would get the truth out of him. He was probably trying to protect him, though from what Carter didn't know. Sometimes he wondered if he had some dark secret in his past, some old enemy following him, maybe; but the idea seemed ridiculous. Dad was just an archaeologist.
The other thing that troubled him: Dad was clutching his workbag. Usually when he does that, it means they're in danger. Like the time gunmen stormed their hotel in Cairo. He had heard shots coming from the lobby and ran downstairs to check on my dad. By the time Carter got there, he was just calmly zipping up his workbag while three unconscious gunmen hung by their feet from the chandelier, their robes falling over their heads so you could see their boxer shorts. Dad claimed not to have witnessed anything, and in the end the police blamed a freak chandelier malfunction.
Anyway, Carter had come to respect the bag. It was their good luck charm. But when his dad kept it close, it meant they were going to need good luck.
They drove through the city center, heading east toward Carter's grandparents' flat. They passed the golden gates of Buckingham Palace, the big stone column in Trafalgar Square.
The taxi let them off at the curb, and his dad asked the driver to wait.
They were halfway up the walk when Dad froze. He turned and looked behind them.
"What?" Carter asked. His father frowned as he glanced up. Carter followed his gaze, but didn't see a thing. He could have sworn that he saw a gold flash in the sky, but when he blinked, it was gone. Then Carter saw the man in the trench coat. He was across the street, leaning against a big dead tree. He was barrel shaped, with skin the color of roasted coffee. His coat and black pinstriped suit looked expensive. He had long braided hair and wore a black fedora pulled down low over his dark round glasses. He reminded me of a jazz musician, the kind my dad would always drag me to see in concert. Even though Carter couldn't see his eyes, he got the impression he was watching them. He might've been an old friend or colleague of Dad's. No matter where they went, Dad was always running into people he knew. But it did seem strange that the guy was waiting here, outside his grandparents'. And he didn't look happy.
"Carter," his dad said, "go on ahead."
"But—"
"Get your sister. I'll meet you back at the taxi."
He crossed the street toward the man in the trench coat, which left Carter with two choices: follow his dad and see what was going on, or do what he was told.
Needless to say, Carter decided on the slightly less dangerous path. He went to retrieve his sister. Before he could even knock, Sadie opened the door. "Late as usual," she said.
She was holding her cat, Muffin, who'd been a
"going away" gift from their Dad six years before. Muffin never seemed to get older or bigger. She had fuzzy yellow-and-black fur like a miniature leopard, alert yellow eyes, and pointy ears that were too tall for her head. A silver Egyptian pendant dangled from her collar. She didn't look anything like a muffin, but Sadie had been little when she named her.
Sadie hadn't changed much either since last summer.
She took after their mom, who was white, so Sadie's skin is much lighter than his. She has straight caramel-colored hair, not exactly blond but not brown, which she usually dyes with streaks of bright colors. That day it had red streaks down the left side. Her eyes are blue. She was chewing gum as usual, dressed for her day out with Dad in battered jeans, a leather jacket, and combat boots, like she was going to a concert and was hoping to stomp on some people. She had headphones dangling around her neck in case they bored her.
"Our plane was late," he told her.
She popped a bubble, rubbed Muffin's head, and tossed the cat inside. "Gran, going out!"
From somewhere in the house, Grandma Faust said something Carter couldn't make out, probably "Don't let them in!"
Sadie closed the door and regarded Carter as if he were a dead mouse her cat had just dragged in. "So, here you are again."
"Yep."
"Come on, then." She sighed. "Let's get on with it."
That's the way she was. No "Hi, how you been the last six months? So glad to see you!" or anything. But that was okay with Carter. When you only see each other twice a year, it's like you're distant cousins rather than siblings. They had absolutely nothing in common except their parents.
They trudged down the steps. He was thinking how she smelled like a combination of old people's house and bubble gum when she stopped so abruptly, Carter ran into her.
"Who's that?" she asked.
Carter had almost forgotten about the dude in the trench coat. He and Carter's dad were standing across the street next to the big tree, having what looked like a serious argument. Dad's back was turned so Carter couldn't see his face, but he gestured with his hands like he does when he's agitated. The other guy scowled and shook his head.
"Dunno," Carter said. "He was there when we pulled up."
"He looks familiar." Sadie frowned like she was trying to remember. "Come on."
"Dad wants us to wait in the cab," Carter said, even though he knew it was no use. Sadie was already on the move.
Instead of going straight across the street, she dashed up the sidewalk for half a block, ducking behind cars, then crossed to the opposite side and crouched under a low stone wall. Then, she started sneaking toward their dad. Carter didn't have much choice but to follow her example, even though it made him feel kind of stupid.
"Six years in England," Carter muttered, "and she thinks she's James Bond."
Sadie swatted him without looking back and kept creeping forward.
A couple more steps and they were right behind the big dead tree. Carter could hear his dad on the other side, saying, "—have to, Amos. You know it's the right thing."
"No," said the other man, who must've been Amos. His voice was deep and even—very insistent. His accent was American. "If I don't stop you, Julius, they will. The Per Ankh is shadowing you."
Sadie turned to Carter and mouthed the words "Per what?"
He shook his head, just as mystified. "Let's get out of here," Carter whispered, because he figured they'd be spotted any minute and get in serious trouble. Sadie, of course, ignored him.
"They don't know the plan," Jullius was saying. "By the time they figure it out—"
"And the children?" Amos asked. The hairs stood up on the back of Carter's neck. "What about them?"
"I've made arrangements to protect them," Julius said.
"Besides, if I don't do this, we're all in danger. Now, back off." He ordered
"I can't, Julius. And this partner of yours, this Doctor Gero? How can you trust him?" Julius looked angry.
"He's been genuine so far, and he has exactly what I've spent so long looking for. I've saved years of work thanks to him!" Amos shook his head.
"You're a fool. You're letting your grief and despair override your common judgment. Some things are best left alone, Amos. Or she died for nothing." To say that was a low sting would be an understatement, for Julius looked livid.
"Then it's a duel you want?" his tone turned deadly serious. "You never could beat me, Amos."
Before Carter could react, Sadie popped up and shouted, "Dad!"
He looked surprised when she tackle-hugged him, but not nearly as surprised as the other guy, Amos. He backed up so quickly, he tripped over his own trench coat.
He'd taken off his glasses. Carter couldn't help thinking that Sadie was right. He did look familiar—like a very distant memory.
"I—I must be going," he said. He straightened his fedora and lumbered down the road.
Their dad watched him go. He kept one arm protectively around Sadie and one hand inside the workbag slung over his shoulder. Finally, when Amos disappeared around the corner, Dad relaxed. He took his hand out of the bag and smiled at Sadie. "Hello, sweetheart."
Sadie pushed away from him and crossed her arms. "Oh, now it's sweetheart, is it? You're late. Visitation Day's nearly over! And what was that about? Who's Amos, and what's the Per Ankh?"
Dad stiffened. He glanced at Carter like he was wondering how much we'd overheard.
"It's nothing," he said, trying to sound upbeat. "I have a wonderful evening planned. Who'd like a private tour of the British Museum?"
Sadie slumped in the back of the taxi between Dad and Carter.
"I can't believe it," she grumbled. "One evening together, and you want to do research."
Dad tried for a smile. "Sweetheart, it'll be fun. The curator of the Egyptian collection personally invited—"
"Right, big surprise." Sadie blew a strand of red- streaked hair out of her face. "Christmas Eve, and we're going to see some moldy old relics from Egypt. Do you ever think about anything else?"
Dad didn't get mad. He never gets mad at Sadie. He just stared out the window at the darkening sky and the rain.
"Yes," he said quietly. "I do."
Whenever Dad got quiet like that and stared off into nowhere, Carter knew he was thinking about their mom. The last few months, it had been happening a lot. Carter would walk into their hotel room and find him with his cell phone in his hands, Mom's picture smiling up at him from the screen—her hair tucked under a headscarf, her blue eyes startlingly bright against the desert backdrop.
Or they'd be at some dig site. Carter would see Dad staring at the horizon, and he knew he was remembering how he'd met her—two young scientists in the Valley of the Kings, on a dig to discover a lost tomb. Dad was an Egyptologist. Mom was an anthropologist looking for ancient DNA. He'd told Carter the story a thousand times. Their taxi snaked its way along the banks of the Thames. Just past Waterloo Bridge, their dad tensed.
"Driver," he said. "Stop here a moment."
The cabbie pulled over on the Victoria Embankment.
"What is it, Dad?" Carter asked.
He got out of the cab like he hadn't heard me. When Sadie and I joined him on the sidewalk, he was staring up at Cleopatra's Needle.
In case you've never seen it: the Needle is an obelisk, not a needle, and it doesn't have anything to do with Cleopatra. Carter guessed the British just thought the name sounded cool when they brought it to London. It's about seventy feet tall, which would've been really impressive back in Ancient Egypt, but on the Thames, with all the tall buildings around, it looks small and sad. You could drive right by it and not even realize you'd just passed something that was a thousand years older than the city of London.
"God." Sadie walked around in a frustrated circle.
"Do we have to stop for every monument?"
My dad stared at the top of the obelisk. "I had to
see it again," he murmured. "Where it happened..."
A freezing wind blew off the river. Carter wanted to get back in the cab, but his dad was really starting to worry him. He'd never seen him so distracted.
"What, Dad?" Carter asked. "What happened here?"
"The last place I saw her." He answered
Sadie stopped pacing. She scowled at Carter uncertainly, then back at Dad. "Hang on. Do you mean Mum?"
Dad brushed Sadie's hair behind her ear, and she was so surprised, she didn't even push him away. Carter felt like the rain had frozen him solid. Mom's death had always been a forbidden subject. Carter knew she'd died in an accident in London. He knew his grandparents blamed his dad. But no one would ever tell us the details. He'd given up asking his dad, partly because it made him so sad, partly because he absolutely refused to tell him anything. "When you're older" was all he would say, which was the most frustrating response ever.
"You're telling us she died here," Carter said. "At Cleopatra's Needle? What happened?" He lowered his head.
"Dad!" Sadie protested. "I go past this every day,
and you mean to say—all this time—and I didn't even know?"
"Do you still have your cat?" Dad asked her, which seemed like a really stupid question.
"Of course I've still got the cat!" she said. "What does that have to do with anything?"
"And your amulet?"
Sadie's hand went to her neck. When Carter and Sadie were little, right before Sadie went to live with their grandparents, Dad had given them both Egyptian amulets. Carter's was an Eye of Horus, which was a popular protection symbol in Ancient Egypt. In fact, his dad says the modern pharmacist's symbol is a simplified version of the Eye of Horus, because medicine is supposed to protect you.
Anyway, Carter always wore his amulet under his shirt, but he figured Sadie would've lost hers or thrown it away.
To my surprise, she nodded. "'Course I have it, Dad, but don't change the subject. Gran's always going on about how you caused Mum's death. That's not true, is it?"
They waited. For once, Sadie and Carter wanted exactly the same thing—the truth.
"The night your mother died," my father started, "here at the Needle—"
A sudden flash illuminated the embankment. Carter turned, half blind, and just for a moment he glimpsed two figures: a tall pale man with a forked beard and wearing cream-colored robes, and a coppery-skinned girl in dark blue robes and a headscarf—the kind of clothes he'd seen hundreds of times in Egypt. They were just standing there side by side, not twenty feet away, watching them. Then the light faded. The figures melted into a fuzzy afterimage. When Carter's eyes readjusted to the darkness, they were gone.
"Um..." Sadie said nervously. "Did you just see that?"
"Get in the cab," his dad said, pushing them toward the curb.
"We're out of time." Sadie stomped her floor flat
"Now wait a minute, Dad! I want some OW!" Sadie had whirled right into a kid that was walking by, knocking them both to the ground.
"OW!" Sadie whined as she got up, rubbing her butt. Carter looked at the other kid, who looked less stunned. He seemed to be the same age as Sadie. He was also wearing an orange T-shirt and blue jeans, and a jet-black leather jacket, like a biker's. He also had a fur belt on, and black hair that looked as wild as an African jungle. A few of his things had gotten scattered, like his phone and a black pen.
"Ouch. Are you okay?" The boy asked as he climbed to his feet and started picking his things up. Carter reached for the boy's pen, but yet out a cry of pain the second he touched it. It felt like his finger had plugged into an outlet. Carter's hand was still shaking as the boy quickly picked up his pen.
"Sorry, it does that." Carter looked annoyed.
"That's a messed up pen!" he snapped. Sadie wasn't amused either.
"Why don't you watch where you're going, you wanker?" she snapped. The boy looked annoyed.
"Me. Why don't you? You were the one running around like a nut!" Sadie looked livid
"WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?" thankfully, their dad intervened before things got out of hand.
"I'm sorry for my daughter's behavior. She can have a temper." The boy looked amused.
"Well, she's not the first crazy girl I've ever met." Sadie looked very ready to kill him, but Dad kept a strong arm on her shoulder.
"I'm kinda lost. Any of you guys know where I can get a hot dog?" Sadie gnased her teeth
"This is London, not New York, you moron!" Her dad glared at her.
"You'll find good food up the road. Maybe you can find what you're looking for there." The boy nodded.
"Thanks! I'm Gohan, by the way." With that, the boy continued his way. Sadie spat with rage when he was gone.
"Tourists! They're all idiots!" From that point on, Dad clammed up.
"This isn't the place to talk," he said, glancing behind them. Carter frowned. His dad handled that strangely. He hadn't even asked that boy where his parents were or offered a meal, like he usually would have done. He'd promised the cabbie an extra ten pounds if he got them to the museum in under five minutes, and the cabbie was doing his best.
"Dad," Carter tried, "those people at the river—"
"And the other bloke, Amos," Sadie said. "Are they Egyptian police or something?"
"Look, both of you," Dad said, "I'm going to need your help tonight. I know it's hard, but you have to be patient. I'll explain everything, I promise, after we get to the museum. I'm going to make everything right again."
"What do you mean?" Sadie insisted. "Make what right?"
Dad's expression was more than sad. It was almost guilty. With a chill, Carter thought about what Sadie had said: about our grandparents blaming him for Mom's death. That couldn't be what he was talking about, could it?
The cabbie swerved onto Great Russell Street and screeched to a halt in front of the museum's main gates.
"Just follow my lead," Dad told them. "When we meet the curator, act normal."
Carter was thinking that Sadie never acted normal, but he decided not to say anything.
They climbed out of the cab. He got our luggage while Dad paid the driver with a big wad of cash. Then he did something strange. He threw a handful of small objects into the backseat—they looked like stones, but it was too dark for him to be sure. "Keep driving," he told the cabbie. "Take us to Chelsea."
That made no sense since we were already out of the cab, but the driver sped off. Carter glanced at Dad, then back at the cab, and before it turned the corner and disappeared in the dark, he caught a weird glimpse of three passengers in the backseat: a man and two kids.
"London cabs don't stay empty very long," he said matter-of-factly. "Come along, kids."
He marched off through the wrought iron gates. For a second, Sadie and I hesitated.
"Carter, what is going on?"
He shook my head. "I'm not sure I want to know."
"Well, stay out here in the cold if you want, but I'm not leaving without an explanation." She turned and marched after their dad.
Looking back on it, Carter should've run. He should've dragged Sadie out of there and gotten as far away as possible. Instead he followed her through the gates.
Here we go! And now, this is where the story gets interesting...
