Lara Croft and the Blade of Gwynnever Read online

  “I’m not leaving here without that sword, Denny,” said Lara.

  “Come on, Croft. It’s an adventure. I’ve heard stories about you and Florence Race. Some of them must be true. Take the sword off her. Be a team player.”

  “I’m not on your team, Denny. What’s Race’s agenda with the sword?”

  “I sell things; people buy them. What they do with them once they’ve handed over the money is their business.”

  “So, maybe Florence knows something about the sword that we don’t,” said Carter.

  “Listen to Bell,” said Denny. “You know he makes sense.”

  Lara leant closer to Denny, until their noses were almost touching.

  “Okay, Denny, just tell me where and when you arranged to meet Florence Race.”

  “Tomorrow, twilight, KV62.”

  “The Valley of the Kings,” said Carter.

  “Where else?” said Lara. “Tomorrow, then. Carter?”

  “You won’t join me at Le Riad?” asked Denny.

  “I have my own haunts, Denny,” said Lara. “And right now I think it’s best for you if there’s a little distance between us. Thanks for the information. It had damn well better be more reliable than the company you keep.”

  Denny pretended to look hurt.

  “Oh, come now, Croft,” he said. “You’re part of the company I keep.”

  “Not anymore,” Lara replied, “and never again.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN:

  CONNECTIONS

  Old Cairo

  “KV62,” said Carter as they took the desert road out of Cairo to the Valley of the Kings.

  “You know what that is, right?” asked Lara.

  “The tomb of Tutankhamen. You’re disappointed.”

  “On the contrary,” said Lara. “It tells me more about the buyer, and it helps to cement our theory. You’ve been concentrating far too hard on the London dig, Carter. You should get out more.”

  “What did I miss?” asked Carter.

  “Florence Race obviously knows about the latest findings at KV62 and has a keen, possibly obsessive, interest in Nefertiti. Women like her are often man-haters. They look for strong female role models and find them in figures like Boudica, Helen, Gwynnever, Joan of Arc, Elizabeth the First, Wu Zetian, Aoife MacMurrough...”

  “Well, it’s going to take a while to drive out to the pyramids, so you’ve got plenty of time to fill me in,” said Carter.

  Their rented Land Cruiser, a battered veteran of tourist transportation, thundered down the dusty highway. Lara was driving, her sunglasses pushed up onto the top of her head.

  “I don’t know if archaeologists will ever be finished with the Valley of the Kings,” said Lara. “It’s one of the most extraordinary burial sites on the planet. KV62 is one of the most mysterious tombs.”

  “One of the most complete and richest finds in the history of archaeology.”

  “And we’re still learning about it,” said Lara. “We’re still processing the anomalies and finding new areas of interest. Grave goods and paraphernalia found in Tut’s tomb might have belonged to a different pharaoh. There are also inconsistencies in the murals, suggesting that his burial chamber was actually intended for someone else. It’s all borne out by the fact that Tutankhamen died young and suddenly.”

  “I’ve heard some of this speculation before,” said Carter. “So, what’s new?”

  “The latest infrared scans on the tomb show new cavities in the structure that suggest more burial chambers,” said Lara, slowing the truck down as they came up behind a convoy of slow-moving sightseer buses. “Archaeologists have been looking for Nefertiti’s tomb for decades, hundreds of years, maybe since she was interred.”

  “And somebody now thinks she was buried in KV62?”

  “That’s the latest speculation.”

  “How realistic is it, Lara, in your opinion?”

  “From what I’ve read, it’s got to be possible. The relationship to Tutankhamen is close. Some claim that Nefertiti was, in fact, Tutankhamen’s mother.”

  “I thought there was DNA that proved otherwise,” said Carter.

  “Reading DNA sequences is an art as much as it’s a science,” said Lara. “And relationships within dynasties in Egypt were complex. There is a theory that generations of cousins procreating produce similar patterns of DNA in third- and fourth-generation offspring as siblings produce in their progeny.”

  The road ahead was clear. Lara changed down and accelerated to overtake the trundling buses.

  “Okay, explain that,” said Carter. “Third and fourth...?”

  “If Akhenaten and Nefertiti were cousins who produced offspring, and they were the result of parents and grandparents who were also cousins, they could produce a child who appeared to be the genetic product of Akhenaten and his sister.”

  “You’re kidding!”

  “DNA is complicated, and it’s never been clear who Tutankhamen’s mother was. It’s an anomaly. Dynastic records for all the major civilisations in the world are incredibly complete, so why don’t we know King Tut’s parentage? Nefertiti was Akhenaten’s favoured queen and most powerful consort. Why wouldn’t it be her?”

  “You make a convincing argument.”

  “Not one I’m entirely convinced by yet,” said Lara, “but it’s fun to speculate. And it can only be a matter of time before we know.”

  “And the sword?”

  “It’s the right era, and it was found on a site consistent with the monotheistic beliefs and iconography of Akhenaten’s rule in Egypt,” said Lara.

  “But the site was not in Egypt, and we’re speculating that the sword was made for a woman. This weapon didn’t belong to Akhenaten.”

  “What do you know about Neferneferuaten?”

  “The rumoured female pharaoh?” asked Carter. “That sounds like something Florence Race would love.”

  “There are several theories that Neferneferuaten was Nefertiti. She falls in the correct regnal order, between Akhenaten and Tutankhamen. And she’s associated both with Akhenaten as possible co-regent, and, obliquely, at least, with a monotheistic religious base. There are also legends of Nefertiti as a warrior with military evidence associated with Karnak.”

  “Then our sword is her sword,” said Carter.

  “I think we have to rule that out because of location,” said Lara. “But we’re archaeologists. We don’t always deal in absolutes. Sometimes we deal in ideas. Nefertiti, the great queen, is a wonderful idea, and so is the sword.”

  “So Florence Race wants the sword as much for what it represents as for what it is?” asked Carter.

  “Who knows?” said Lara. “We’ve been talking for hours. I would draw your attention to another wonderful Egyptian artefact in London, though. We call it ‘Cleopatra’s Needle.’”

  “So?” said Carter. “We know what it is, we know where it came from, and we know it didn’t arrive at its current location until, what, about 1820?”

  “We also know that there are three of them,” said Lara, “and that the other two are in Paris and New York.”

  “What are you saying, Lara? That there are more swords? More sites? More what?”

  “I don’t know what I’m saying,” said Lara. “We’re just speculating, right?”

  “I guess so,” said Carter.

  Off the highway, they lurched along a rough track, kicking ochre dust up in a cloud behind them.

  “This is it,” said Lara, “and it looks like someone’s already here.” She rolled the grubby Land Cruiser to a halt and switched off the engine. With the air-con off, the heat became oppressive very quickly.

  They got out into the sunlight. Lara flipped down her shades.

  There was one other vehicle parked up twenty metres away.

  “That’s got to be Denny’s car,” she said. �
�Let’s take a look around, but let’s try not to get noticed.”

  Carter looked around, but there was nowhere to stash the Land Cruiser. The landscape was flat and open. There were no buildings to hide it behind and no other cars to hide it among.

  “It’s going to be tough to go unnoticed around here,” he said.

  “But if they can see us, we can see them,” said Lara. “We’ll be fine. No talking, and move as quietly as you can.”

  Lara and Carter walked out to KV62, surprised by the lack of any security. Florence had obviously found a way to clear the site, either by force or, more likely, by persuasion. Lara suspected bribery or some other form of coercion or corruption.

  They approached the tomb at an angle, avoiding a line of sight to the entrance. Then they turned at the last moment, to get a side view of the entrance. The angle was tight. They could see across the entrance, but not into it. They were less than twenty metres away. Lara lay flat on her belly on the sand, and Carter followed suit.

  Three figures were milling around the entrance, stepping back and forth, into and out of view.

  “It’s Denny,” whispered Lara. “I’d recognise that gait anywhere.”

  “What do we do?”

  “We wait,” whispered Lara. “We need eyes on Florence Race before we can be confident that Denny brought the sword and plans to go ahead with the deal.”

  They lay in silence for a few minutes as Denny and his entourage paced. Lara kept her eyes on Denny, but Denny was gazing at the tomb.

  There appeared to be no one else anywhere close by.

  Twilight did not last long in Egypt. The sky was streaked with flashes of orange light as the vast red ball sank fast below the horizon.

  “She’s late,” whispered Lara.

  Bright, yellow light suddenly flooded out of the tomb entrance, illuminating Denny and his party.

  “Gentlemen,” said Florence Race. Her voice travelled easily through the clear night air. It was as sonorous and insistent as usual.

  She had made a grand entrance, emerging from Tutankhamen’s tomb, as if into a spotlight, right in front of Denny. She was dressed for the part: the stylish, elegant tourist, understated, but with a few touches of practicality that only a seasoned explorer would know. She was effortlessly chic. Lara wouldn’t have been surprised if a team of international fashion photographers had emerged with her, shooting images for some designer perfume campaign. Nefertiti, pour femme.

  The smell of treachery, more like. Nevertheless, Florence’s vanity was a godsend to Lara, who could see every detail of the exchange in the bright, yellow light emanating from the tomb.

  “And it’s a pleasure to see you, Miss Race,” said Denny, offering his hand. Florence ignored it.

  “Have you brought the merchandise?” asked Florence.

  “That’s what we’re here for,” said Denny. “To do business. Have you got the money?”

  “How could you doubt it?” said Florence.

  Lara thought that Denny’s laugh could probably be heard for miles around.

  “Then let’s go into my office, shall we?” said Florence, gesturing towards the entrance to KV62.

  “After you,” said Denny. “Ladies first.”

  “I’ll keep you where I can see you, thank you, Mr. Sampson,” said Florence. “Your reputation precedes you.”

  Denny chuckled and waved his entourage ahead of him. They’d barely taken a step when Florence stopped them.

  “You can leave your lackeys out here to enjoy the cool of the evening air. They can stretch their legs before the long drive back to Cairo.”

  Denny hesitated for just a moment.

  “Okay,” he said. “He stays here, but Sandler is coming with me.”

  Race shrugged.

  Denny signalled to Sandler to hand him the duffel bag the bodyguard had carried from the car. Denny shouldered it and then took the lead into KV62.

  “Now what?” whispered Carter.

  “Just wait. Listen,” Lara whispered back.

  They watched as the third man, with nothing else to do, kicked up some dust for a minute or two, and then decided to walk back to the car. The sun had set, so once he was out of Florence’s spotlight, it was hard to see him. After another minute or two, Lara heard a car door open and then close.

  “Now, we go in after them,” said Lara.

  “Into the hornet’s nest?” asked Carter.

  “I’m not afraid of Denny Sampson or Florence Race,” said Lara, “and I’ve got a pretty impressive sting of my own. Just follow my lead.”

  “You’re the boss, Lara.”

  “Yes, I bloody well am.”

  Lara strode through the entrance to KV62, Carter following behind her. Whatever guards Florence had chosen to employ, she was keeping them close, and hadn’t left a sentry or any kind of defence at the entrance to the tomb. That was her first mistake. Lara simply walked in, holding a gun in each outstretched hand.

  Approaching the end of dimly lit passages, Lara could see the doorway to a better-lit antechamber. The air was dry, and smelt faintly of talcum and centuries.

  A few metres back, Lara slowed to a stop, her back to the wall, and Carter followed suit.

  “Are you ready for this?” asked Lara.

  “For what?” asked Carter, concern in his voice.

  “We’re going to have a lot of enemies in that room,” said Lara. “Florence Race and her lackeys, and Denny Sampson and Sandler. I expect a standoff. So, are you ready?”

  “You’re just going to walk in?” said Carter.

  “It’s Florence Race,” said Lara. “Brazen confrontation seems like the best plan.”

  Carter drew his gun.

  “If you say so.”

  “Florence,” said Lara, standing in the doorway, guns raised. Heads turned, and the local guards that Florence had employed looked startled. Lara took the opportunity to disable two of them with shots to the shoulders before the others were able to get their weapons up. Two fewer shooters to deal with if...when the time came.

  “I’m delighted to see you, Lara,” said Florence. “I didn’t expect it.”

  “Denny suggested I should come along for the ride,” said Lara, stepping into the room, followed by Carter, wielding his weapon in a two-handed grip. “And I’m a big fan of the Valley, so I couldn’t resist.”

  Florence smiled, and studied Lara’s face hard.

  “Not a mention,” she said, smiling, “not even a mention. Not even a hint.”

  “Of?” asked Lara sweetly.

  Race laughed.

  “Our last tête-à-tête, of course, sweetie,” she said. “Or do the guns give you away?”

  Lara shrugged.

  “I’m a professional, Flo,” she replied. “Just like you. We win some, we lose some, and sometimes the work gets messy. You put that behind you, write it off, and carry on. Or you spend your life nursing butt-hurt and achieving nothing.”

  “So, we’re good?” asked Race.

  “I’m great,” said Lara, “but, like you said, I’m the one holding the guns.”

  Race laughed again.

  “Look around you,” she said, gesturing at her guards, who now had Carter and Lara in their gun sights. “You must realise this is me winning for the second time in a row. After all, you’re here, Lara!”

  Lara smiled.

  “Law of probability, Flo,” she replied. “Winning streaks don’t last forever. And you haven’t got this one in the bag yet. Didn’t your mother teach you not to count your chickens until they were hatched?”

  “Is it me, or is this entire conversation loaded with hot, suggestive meaning?” rumbled Denny, giving Carter a knowing look.

  “Just you, Denny,” said Carter.

  “You’ve seen the sword?” Florence asked Lara.

  “
It’s magnificent,” said Lara.

  “Is it as beautiful as the photographs?”

  “You can see for yourself,” said Lara, holstering one of her guns to remove her shades.

  Florence turned to her guards.

  “Leave us,” she said, “and some of you guard the entrance, so we’re not disturbed.” Three of the guards retreated into the passage. Several others moved into the adjacent room, the infamous burial chamber that had once contained the grave goods and sarcophagus of Tutankhamen.

  “You, stay,” said Florence to the guard nearest to her.

  “Put your gun away, Lara. You’re very welcome here,” said Florence, gesturing for the one remaining guard to shoulder his weapon. Lara and Carter holstered their weapons. “Now, show me the goods, Denny,” said Florence, without further preamble. “The sword last.”

  Denny dropped the duffel bag onto a large table that was partly covered in old books and maps, research documents, and dozens of pages of handwritten notes.

  The first object out of the bag was a fat cylinder, about thirty centimetres long and with one rounded end. It looked like some kind of primitive missile. It was clearly old, and military. The colour and letter/number markings suggested to Lara that it was probably Second World War, and German.

  Florence tutted.

  Lara turned sharply to Carter.

  “You said Strand stole other artefacts from the site…but this?” she said, gesturing at the object.

  “I had no idea he’d taken it,” said Carter. “I don’t know if anyone did.”

  Then, Denny removed some smaller items from the duffel bag, wrapped in unbleached cloth and sealed in specimen bags. Florence began to unlock the bags and peel back layers of cloth to reveal shards of exquisite pottery and a small, gold brooch, but she soon became impatient. She dropped the finds back in their bags, and pocketed them.

  “Now,” said Denny, “la pièce de résistance!” Denny withdrew a long plastic tube from the duffel bag with a theatrical flourish and placed it carefully on the table. Florence looked at it for a moment, and then set to work.

  Florence unclicked the covers from both ends of the tube and put them on one side. She reached into one end of the tube, and then the other. Holding the tube steady on the table, she carefully withdrew about half of the wrapped object from within. When it was halfway out, she placed her other hand under it, and using both hands, removed the sword entirely from its packaging.