Pendergast 07 - The Book of the Dead by Douglas Preston & Lincoln Child

Author:Douglas Preston & Lincoln Child [Preston, Douglas & Child, Lincoln]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Psychological Fiction, Government Investigators, Thrillers, New York (N.Y.), Occult Fiction, Psychological, Suspense, Horror, Occult & Supernatural, Brothers, Sibling Rivalry, Paranormal Fiction
ISBN: 9780446618502
Google: R1VQMNao3r8C
Amazon: 0446618500
Publisher: Hachette Digital, Inc.
Published: 2006-05-30T05:00:00+00:00

Thirty hours before the grand opening, the Tomb of Senef was boiling like a nest of angry hornets. And the swarm was no longer comprised of simply curators, electricians, carpenters, and technicians: a new element had been added to the mix. As Nora walked down the God’s Second Passage toward the Hall of the Chariots, she was met with the glare of television lights and a knot of men setting up cameras and mikes at the far end of the hall.

“Over there, dear boy, over there!”

A slender man with clenched buttocks, wearing a camel’s-hair sport jacket and yellow pinpoint bow tie, stood to one side. He was gesturing furiously with slender hands toward a burly soundman. Nora realized he must be the director Randall Loftus, whom Menzies had recently spoken to her about. He had won huge acclaim for his documentary series The Last Cowboy on Earth, and since then had produced a string of award-winning documentaries for public television.

As she approached, the babel of overlapping voices grew more shrill. “Testing. Testing…”

“Ugh! We’ve got the acoustics of a barn in here!”

Loftus and his crew were setting up to broadcast the premiere of the sound-and-light show on the night of the opening. The local PBS station planned to cover the opening live, and they had energetically syndicated the show to ensure it would not only go out to most PBS affiliates across the nation, but also be carried by the BBC and the CBC. It was a public relations coup that Menzies himself had worked hard to arrange. The resulting international attention, Nora knew, could go a long way toward saving the museum’s bacon. But at the moment, they were causing utter chaos—and at the worst possible time. Their cables lay all over the ground, tripping up assistants carrying priceless Egyptian antiquities. The brilliant lights only added to the heat generated by hot electronics and the dozens of frantic people rushing about in a kind of controlled panic: the air-conditioning system ducts were roaring in a futile effort to lower the exhibit’s temperature.

“I want two six-inch, one-kilowatt Mole Babies in the corner, there,” Loftus was saying. “Will somebody move that jar?”

Nora quickly stepped up. “Mr. Loftus?”

He turned to her, squinting over the tops of his John Mitchell glasses. “Yes?”

She gamely stuck out her hand. “I’m Dr. Nora Kelly, curator of the exhibition.”

“Oh! Of course. Randall Loftus. Delighted.” He began to turn away.

“Excuse me, Mr. Loftus? You mentioned something about moving a jar. I’m sure you’ll understand that nothing can be moved—or even touched—except by museum staff.”

“Nothing moved! How am I supposed to set up?”

“You’ll just have to work around things, I’m afraid.”

“Work around things! I’ve never been asked to perform in such conditions. This tomb is like a straitjacket. I can’t get any good angles or distance. It’s impossible!”

She gave him a brilliant smile. “I’m sure, with your talent, you’ll find a way to make it work.”

The smile had no effect, but at the word talent Loftus seemed to pause.

“I’ve admired your work,” Nora continued, sensing her opening.

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