Favoured Friends

Part 7/?

Summary: An invitation to the National Egyptology Conference quickly becomes deadly race for the mythic Ichriem against an old rival of Sydney's - the assassin known only as 'the Viper'.

Note: This is a round robin originally posted at the Relic Hunter Yahoo Group. Although I'm posting it, I did not write the entire thing. This part was written by LeiLani ( dawnleilani@yahoo.com )

Also, I have Support Services. That means that, if you want, you can put me on Author Alert and receive notice when other stories of mine are posted, even if you haven't paid yourself.

Posted: Wednesday, July 24, 2002

 Exhausted or not, Nigel was far too agitated to sleep. His fingers toyed with the slip of paper and its cryptic message. Ichriem... What was Ichriem? It certainly sounded Egyptian, though its exact translation eluded him.

Exhausted or not, Nigel was far too agitated to sleep. His fingers toyed with the slip of paper and its cryptic message. Ichriem… What was Ichriem? It certainly sounded Egyptian, though its exact translation eluded him.

He showered and pulled on clean boxers, and now half-reclined in the king-sized bed. All three pillows were wedged beneath his back, the luxurious sateen pillowcases absorbing the last remnants of moisture from his skin. Still wet, his hair was combed straight back, and a pair of dark-rimmed glasses sat over his nose. Glasses or no, his eyes were not cooperating tonight with his attempts to read and re-read the note.

The paper itself caught his attention very quickly. It wasn't standard 80-pound stuff you'd drop into your copy machine. Its weight and texture spoke of custom order, a supposition borne out by the faint gold leaf that edged the deckled bottom. It was merely a corner from a larger sheet. It looked like it had been torn away quickly, ripped so hurriedly that the tops of a couple of letters were taken off in the process.

Ichriem.

Frustration tore at him and he stifled the urge to scream. He might have carried through were it not for the armed guard stationed outside his door.

It was damned curious. The police investigator grilled him to see what he knew about the Viper, claiming to need whatever information Nigel could provide. Yet that same detective, after walking away for fewer than five minutes, returned a virtual font of information on the mysterious person. Shanahan recounted horrible stories about the killer, in blood-curdling detail. It might have made a suspicious man question sources, but for one thing.

It was Shanahan's information that led to the discovery of the poison. With his help, it was just a matter of identifying the species of snake venom and administering an antidote. Had it not been for the detective's intervention, Sydney would be dead. As it was, the anti-venom was nearly too late. Her life hung in the balance for several hours before the crisis passed.

Nigel yanked off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. Every time he thought about how close he'd come to losing his mentor and friend, it tore his heart out. Tears stung his eyes again. He didn't yet know who this Viper fellow was, but for once, Nigel wanted the honor of throttling the man with his own bare hands. The little Englishman had received a rude awakening, in more ways than one. He was used to a strong Sydney, an in-charge Sydney. He admired and respected her, and that hadn't changed.

Only through this, he'd come to discover another facet, one which drew him even more powerfully. For perhaps the first time, he saw a vulnerable Sydney, a very human Syd. He realized that he truly wanted to defend her, to save her, as she'd done for him time and time again.

It wasn't about being a man, though Nigel admittedly still struggled with that from time to time.

It was about needing to protect someone who was becoming increasingly important to him. Sydney Fox was more like his family than his own brother was. He didn't exactly regard her like a sister, though. More like...

An Ichriem.

The translation hit him suddenly, its meaning crystal clear in a way he never would have understood even a few months earlier. It meant the other half of a soul, the twin in heart and mind. In ancient Egyptian, it didn't necessarily carry the romantic connotations of soul-mate, though that was one possible meaning.

He stared at the scrap of paper, wondering at the reference. Was the terrified young woman trying to imply that she was his Ichriem, or was this evidence of a relic named in honor of the ideal? And to what did MT 10:30-BMR refer? He bit his lip, puzzled anew. MT – could that refer to Mountain Time? That would make sense, coupled with THE 10:30. But what about BMR? No matter how he looked at it, the mystery remained a mystery, and he was no closer to knowing why it was so important to an international fugitive known only as the Viper.

Yawning, he shuffled over to turn off the light, still pondering the message. Once the light was out, he turned to walk back to his bed, but tripped over the shoes he'd dropped in his exhaustion. Swearing, he pushed himself up, but dropped back immediately when his window was shattered with the impact of a bullet. He didn't raise his head for a good five minutes. When he finally did gather the courage to look, his knees threatened to give way.

The bullet left a hole in the dead center of the pillow. Had he not tripped, it would have gone through his head, killing him instantly.

Nigel swallowed, suddenly incapable of speech. He stumbled to the door, not caring about his state of undress. Too upset to speak, he simply reached out to shake the police officer propped against the door jamb.

The officer's head lolled to one side and he slid to the floor, his eyes staring vacantly into space. A crimson pattern blossomed on his shirt, dark and red and sticky.

This time, Nigel's knees did give way. His eyes darted around the empty corridor as he tried to figure out where the enemy was. The hairs at the back of his neck stood on end. He knew he was being watched, and that the watcher was the Viper. Finally, unable to do more, he backed into his room and turned the deadbolt. He was shaking so hard it took him three tries to turn on the light.

When he did, he didn't benefit from the illumination. A heavy object connected with the back of his head and he slumped to the floor.

David Blount still held the butt end of the pistol. The bald man stared impassively at his captive. "Okay, boss, he's all yours." The older man turned to a shadow in the opposite corner of the room. There was a blur of movement and Blount stared in horror at the red stain in his own shirt. Seconds later, he too crumbled into a heap, dead from the fast-acting poison.

The unconscious Nigel was long gone before daylight broke.

End Part Seven