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Outside of Abusir, Egypt, present day

The two men staggered across the desert, making little progress forward as their bodies were buffeted with wind and sand. One dragged a makeshift sled behind him, the canvas covering the objects upon it flapping and protesting against its ropes.

"Allah warabakatu," the elder of the two muttered through his turban, wound tightly across his face.

His son, who struggled with their burden, merely grunted in reply, tightening his grip on the rope. He shot a concerned glance at his father out of the corner of his eye and was disconcerted to see him stumble over his own two feet.

"Can you make it to the truck?" he asked, worry apparent in his voice.

"I'll have to, won't I?" his father countered gruffly and plodded ahead stubbornly.

The two men finally reached their home as daylight was breaking. Katyia stood at the doorway awaiting their arrival. She clucked sympathetically at her husband and chided her son for such behavior, then shooed the latter up the stairs to shower for work while she made the former's breakfast.

He sat at the table and watched his wife's ministrations. "You are too hard on the boy."

"Malesh. You wouldn't dare to go out on these expeditions anymore if it weren't for Kaleel and his curiosity."

"You forget that he gets that trait from me."

"Perhaps," his wife said, giving him a small smile over her shoulder. She would not, however, refuse to let the argument drop. "But he shouldn't be doing such things when he knows he has to work in the morning. Would you see your shop in ruins?"

"Ehhh," he waved her off with a good-natured grin. "You wish him to be respectable. What a boring thing to be."

At this, Kaleel himself entered the room, smelling sweetly of soap, his hair slick and wet. He straightened his tie as his mother looked up from her skillet to give an approving nod.

"You look disgusting. In my day, we did not wear ties," his father said pointedly.

"And it's amazing Mother ever married you," his son countered with a grin, provoking a small peal of laughter of out of her. Stealing a piece of his father's toast and giving his mother a quick peck on the cheek, he left to see to the family's business- an antiquity shop in town. In fact, it had once been one of the premier shops for antiquities in the whole of Egypt before a few objects had undergone series of testing and had turned up less than genuine.

Which was to be expected, really, as their neighbor would say for years to come. Feisal Muhammud el-Garibya came from a long line of less than honest men: tomb robbers, forgers, and fences of rare merchandise, and he was ridiculously proud of that fact, something which his moralistic wife did not appreciate. Feisal himself had once been a consummate forger, specializing in votive statuary. A combination of age and his wife's influence had finally persuaded him to hang up his chisels, but he had as yet to relish his retirement. His son, now the proprietor of his shop, had to keep a sharp eye out for merchandise suddenly appearing on his shelves to tempt irresponsible and less intelligent customers. Feisal grudgingly admitted that the boy did, unfortunately, inherit his mother's morals.

His wife set a plate of eggs in front of him. "From that insufferable look on your face, I take it the two of you found something last night?"

He waggled his heavy eyebrows at her suggestively, his mouth immediately full of food and received in return a playful swat on the arm.

"You should have the sitt hakim look at that. It would be good for her, to finally do something with her time, instead of grieving in a dark room."

He swallowed and took a long drink of water, shaking his head. "You worry too much. She can handle herself."

"Then at least to make sure you don't get into trouble and your son as well."

He called her a busybody and a nag and devoured the rest of his breakfast with his customary gusto. She simply finished washing the dishes, refraining from mentioning the lady doctor's impending visit later in the week. He would find out and do as he was told later, like always.

A couple days later, after she had arrived and paid her respects to his wife, Feisal took the doctor to a back room where his son had deposited their sled.

"What do you think?"

She moved slowly from object to object, touching them lightly with gloved hands. When she looked up, shock and confusion were writ upon her face.

"I've never seen anything like this."

"Never?" he asked excitedly.

"No," she frowned and his expression sobered. "Where did you find them?"

"I'll have Kaleel show you the way."

Later that evening, after driving around in circles, they had not found the site where the pieces were found.

"But that is impossible! This is the spot, I know it is!" Feisal waved his compass high in the air.

"There's nothing here but sand," she remarked dispiritedly. "Not even a hole."

"The storm" Kaleel said, realization dawning. "It's wiped this area clean. We'll never find that shaft again."

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In the distance, carefully concealed behind fallen ruins, two men watched the three scour over the small tract of sand and shared a grim smile inside their truck. They would not find the shaft again, not if the two of them could help it. The Order had delivered harsh directives, apparently originating from the top members themselves, that the matter be dealt with quickly and quietly. If that wasn't enough to spur their members to action, there were the gruesome reports of the operative in charge of keeping the shaft itself secret; he had been found the day before in an alleyway, his throat cut, his hands cut clean off, and his face badly beaten. The authorities would not be able to confirm his identity for some time, if at all. It was of no matter. Those who knew whom he had been knew what they must do now.

So the two men sat and watched the fruitless search continue. Shortly, their radio crackled to life and the driver quickly answered it in a whisper.

"Yes, they have returned. This time with a white woman."

"Have they found the shaft?"

"No, we concealed it well." They did not mention the great deal of assistance provided by the recent sandstorm.

"Who is the woman?"

"A friend of the family. No-one of importance."

"Good, good. And the reliquary's contents?"

"Will be retrieved in due time."

"See that they are, or you know the consequences."

As the driver returned the radio to its resting-place, his companion shifted in his seat. "Have you any idea how we'll get them back?"

"He's a well-known forger. Who could say that such things are genuine?"

"Surely, she would study them? Run tests and such?" he asked hesitantly, his fingers curling nervously over the pistol that rested on his knee.

"And conclude the same thing."

"If not?"

"Then you know the consequences," the man reiterated darkly, with a pointed look at his companion's gun.

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To be continued