Chapter 1: Rather lousy investigation.
"No, I really don't think I want to look at it," moaned Randy, but nothing had helped.
He had been already at the inn's entrance when almost collided with short burly man, wearing black trousers, white shirt and red waistcoat . Man jumped back and yelled "Ah, at last they've sent somebody!".
Apparently, the Embassy numbers on the car was the reason of this exclamation. Anyway, the man snatched Julian's sleeve and dragged him though the little inner yard and upstairs. They passed a tiny fountain, and Randy gaped at the red drops dangling over its rim. It really looked just like blood, but he didn't have time for proper examination. Burly fellow was dragging him up the staircase with the persistence of ant, pulling a huge maggot to his nest.
"Who the Hell are you?" asked Randy at last with his usual politeness, when they climbed upstairs.
"I'm Valentine Bovenue, doctor of medicine, also local surgeon and gynecologist", answered fat guy, with strong French accent in his voice.
"I'm not sure I need a gynecologist right now," said Randy cautiously, looking for way to retreat.
"Oh, that. Don't bother, this case has nothing to do with it. Rather, vivisection or something like that", smiled Dr. Bovenue broadly. "Welcome and take a look."
Randy's worst anticipations were nothing comparing to reality. The guy before him obviously was dead. But he didn't look like he had been killed this morning-rather, like as if the murder took place something like 100 years ago, and all this time the remnants were buried in the sands of desert. Dry like sand, greenish wrinkled skin almost exposed the skull, empty sockets invited an unasked thoughts about worms and bugs and all this pretty insect life, flourishing on corpses.
"Damn", gurgled Randy finally, fighting with the fit of sickness "What have happened with this guy?"
"Well", chirruped the doctor "First of all, his eyes and his tongue
had been cut before all this mess happened".
He waved carelessly at the sad remnants.
"Nice to hear it", muttered Randy, pacing through the room to look at the shot traces on the walls. There was obviously good fighting in here, but it seemed that bullets has nothing to do with Mr. Burn's death.
"As about the way of killing" continued reckless Dr. Bovenue. "I'm still not sure. Of course, almost complete and instantaneous dehydration of organism, and look at his tissues-it's appears to be…well, mummified".
"Mummified", repeated Randy thoughtlessly, peering at the window lashes, sill and ripped drapery. They were full of sand, not the grayish street dust, but the red sand of central Sahara. He remembered this special tint of vast spaces, stretching out under the diving airplane.
"Mummified". Then the meaning of these words penetrated his pondering. "How could it be? Police guy claimed that this man was murdered today, and, ignorant as I am, I know pretty well that mummification takes time. Hundreds of years or even more".
"Sure. But it's not usual mummification. I need to make a resection, but I have a strong suspicion that tongue and eyes are not his only missed organs. However, I cannot see any cuts or holes or wounds…"
"Okay", Randy interrupted him hurriedly, not going to listen a lecture
about poor devil's anatomy. "Take him and do whatever you think reasonable
to do, then let me know the results. Now I'm going to talk with the buddies
of this unhappy fellow, I was said that they still are staying in here".
************
However, this brilliant plan hadn't work. On the exit he had been intercepted by the innkeeper, who kept asking about compensation for the destroyed room, spoiled drinks and moral hazard with dull stubbornness.
Then, when Randy finally got rid of the asshole, he was entrapped by the doctor again, this time it was concerning the fate of late Mr. Burns remnants. Doctor was eager to put them in his private collection of fossils and mummies, and dropped this idea only after long and furious quarrel.
Then he again ran into innkeeper, who was screaming about the end of the world and ominous conspiracy of Americans, who, according to his words, were ready to ruin his business by any means. And indeed, the piece about end of the world seemed to be at least partly true, because when Randy had looked out of the window, he saw the mad crowds of people pouring on the streets.
All of them were covered in boils and sores and shouting something like "Impotent", which didn't make much sense.
As if it wasn't enough to drive unhappy ambassador's secretary crazy, sun decided that it's a perfect moment to have some little neat eclipse and was now almost completely obscured by dark shape of moon. In growing darkness people' cries were no more funny but rather fear-inspiring.
However, he braced himself against what he preferred to consider a stupid eastern superstitions and strode down the corridor to the Americans' rooms. To his great irritation, the guard who was supposed to watch the doors was missing, rooms empty, no trace of their inhabitants anywhere. Same for O'Connell's room. Then he recalled that on doctor said something about the girl, who first discovered the body.
Randy hunted down the panicking landlord, who was hurriedly packing his stuff, ready to close the inn, and asked him about the mysterious disappearance of Americans, O'Connell and the lady. After minute hesitation (which abruptly ceased when Mr. Randy produced a big cocked Colt) he related that the named persons departed in the car about half a hour ago, and that upon leaving they shouted something about Cairo Museum of Antiquities.
Cursing under his breath, Julian ran to his own (or, rather, Embassy)
car, jumped in it and speeded toward the Museum, which was in the northern
part of the city, near the river, and, that was lucky part of the story,
on the same Sharia el-Salibah street where the Embassy resided. It
meant that the possibility to get amiss in the narrow winded side lanes
was minimal. However, it also meant that the shortest way was through the
Khan El Hakim Bazaars, and that wasn't too good, because all the boiled-and-sored
guys appeared to be heading in this direction.They were carrying torches,
and the red flames danced and flashed on their ugly maimed faces. Now he
could hear their cries more distinctly, and it became clear that
the strange word they were repeating sounded like "Imhotep".
HEY, SHOULD I PROCEED?