“The hotel is just great, and we’re sorry to have disturbed you,” Will said, glancing at Kat. “We truly enjoy it here.”

“Well, thank you,” Jonah said. “I assure you that we’ll be vigilant as to the elevator cameras. Still, no harm was done.”

“No harm at all,” Will agreed pleasantly.

“Then, please, coffee is available in the lobby. And if you want to reach me, the reception staff can find me at any time, day or night.”

Will thanked him, took Kat’s elbow and led them toward the coffee.

“How’d I do?” he asked her.

“Suck up to a pathologist or a cop like that, and we’ll have it made,” she told him. “But shouldn’t we get a list of hotel guests?”

He grinned. “Of course. I’ve called the higher-ups to see that we’re given the list. If Adam makes the call, we won’t have to hear about privacy laws and all that.”

“Good thinking,” she said.

Complimentary coffee was served out of a silver urn on a marble counter by the restaurant. He poured them both a cup of coffee and offered her cream and sugar.

“I take it black,” she said.

“We all do, I guess, with the places we go and the hours we keep,” he murmured.

“You’re right. I used to add cream,” she said, heading toward the dining room.

He followed her. She was a strange choice for one of the Krewes, he thought. She was tiny—maybe five-four, and a hundred and five pounds. She was a blue-eyed blonde and looked like a little Russian fairy princess. Katya Sokolov was also a certified medical examiner. He’d always known that. It was her appearance and her manner that surprised him. She was just so…tiny and perfect.

Each Krewe member had a talent beyond that of communication with the dead. His was film and cameras—and determining what was illusion, what was reality. He knew that in the Texas Krewe, Sean Cameron was the video/film man, and of course, Sean’s association with the documentary crew hired to film the salvage of the Jerry McGuen was why they were involved.

“I got a nice long email from Logan Raintree this morning. Research on the Egyptian Sand Diggers,” she told him as they chose a table in the dining room.

“And?”

She drew out her phone and pulled up the email, not reading but checking it now and then as she spoke to him.

“The society was actually formed back in 1932. There’ve been many times that Egyptology was the rage, and even as we plunged into the Great Depression, this group raised money to find the ship. Through the years, many of the members have been high-ranking politicians, respected scientists, you name it. It’s a private society—like the Masonic Order or the Shriners or Elks—that does community service. Their dinners and dances and events support major children’s hospitals. Right now, they’re busy supporting exploration in the pyramid of Cheops—or Khufu—one of the ‘great’ pyramids at Giza, built over four thousand years ago for the pharaoh. But they’ve also financed various expeditions and the preservation of Egyptian antiquities from the different kingdoms.”

He nodded eagerly. “The Old Kingdom, which would be roughly the third millennium, leading up to the New Kingdom, the Greek and Roman periods, and then invasion by what we consider more or less modern Europeans. Ramses II, or Ramses the Great, was a nineteenth dynasty king and ruled from 1279 to 1213 BC.”

“Yeah, he was a warrior king, and very nicely played by Yul Brynner in the old movie,” Kat said. “He was considered a magnificent general and a good ruler, whether he did or didn’t lose half his men when the Red Sea fell back after Moses. So Amun Mopat, as his high priest, is of tremendous interest to scholars.” She grinned. “Those poor people in the Sand Diggers must have been cringing when the movie Sam Stone and the Curious Case of the Egyptian Museum was originally made. A number of liberties were taken.”

“Maybe they were upset, maybe not. Maybe they were happy to see some interest—any interest—in ancient Egypt. And maybe they enjoyed sharing their information. Just as they were probably happy to correct everyone when the press got it all wrong reporting on your last case in California.”

“You know about that?”

He laughed. “I read the papers. Usually online, which means the New York, L.A., Chicago and London papers. I know the FBI is downplaying our part in the Hollywood case as much as possible, but if you’re with a Krewe…well, you read between the lines. And I guess it must be somewhat disconcerting to go from Amun Mopat to…Amun Mopat.”

“It’s what we do, right?” She smiled, aware that she was paraphrasing an earlier remark of his.

“Yeah, it’s what we do. And I love Egyptology,” he said. “I’m looking forward to seeing the artifacts on that ship. Especially the mummy.”

“I’m used to the dead. But I’ve never been asked to examine the remains of a mummy, although I know pathologists who have. I believe in speaking for the dead, but…I think my sympathies are with the people who died on the ship, rather than a priest who apparently lived well and had many convinced that he was all-powerful.”

“And Brady Laurie?” he asked quietly.

“I know we’re learning more about him. That he was determined to follow through on his discovery and that he might have had a temper and—in short—been human.” She paused. “I really wanted his death to be an accident.”

“But you don’t buy that any more than I do,” he said.

“No,” she admitted.

“Okay, we’ll figure out what went on,” Will said solemnly. “And I’m intrigued by this group. Neither Amanda Channel nor Jon Hunt at the Preservation Center mentioned them to me. Then again, maybe they just dismiss them as amateurs.”

“Yes, but the Sand Diggers are also avid—and scholarly,” Kat said. “And apparently they do good works.”

“Do we know where to find them?”

“Their meeting house is on Michigan Avenue,” she told him. “We can start there, and if we don’t find the two men Landry mentioned—Austin Miller and Dirk Manning—we can get information on their schedules. I’m sure Logan sent me their home addresses. I’ll go through the notes again.”

“Then I say we head over there after a lovely morning of diving!” Will said. “Hey, come on. How often will you see a freshly discovered shipwreck and treasure so far untouched?”

Only in my dreams, Kat thought. Only in my…dreams.

She realized that she dreaded seeing the Jerry McGuen.

No.

She dreaded discovering that she’d already seen it.

5

Kat remembered meeting Alan King, Bernie Firestone and Earl Candy in Texas, when she was involved in the case at the Longhorn Saloon. They’d been helpful, and they were interesting people—and friends of Sean Cameron’s. She’d seen more of Bernie and Earl, but when the case came to its conclusion, she, Logan and the others had dinner with the group, and she’d enjoyed their company.

They all met at the docks. It was decided that Kat and Will would go out on the film crew’s boat and meet up with the Preservation Center’s boat at the dive site. Today’s dive would be on video, from beginning to end.

Kat was glad. That meant lots of people in the water.

And it meant that everything would be on video.

Bernie Firestone was a man of about forty, pleasant, with graying hair and warm brown eyes. He greeted Kat with a crushing hug and called out to his main cameraman, “Earl! Dr. Sokolov is here. Agent Sokolov these days, right?”

“Yes, Bernie. Hey, Earl!”

She received an equally warm hug from Earl. He was stocky and shaggy-haired and reminded her of a teddy bear.

She’d only met Alan King, the billionaire producer, once, but he, too, was friendly when they greeted each other. Alan didn’t look or behave like her idea of such a wealthy man. At the moment, he was in swim trunks and a worn T-shirt and his cap of white hair was unruly in the breeze.

He shook hands with her and Will, and thanked them for being there.

“Happy to,” she murmured, feeling somewhat guilty. She didn’t tell him that it hadn’t been her choice.

“Amanda and Jon haven’t arrived yet. You want to come into the cabin and have some coffee?” he asked.

“Sure, more coffee sounds great,” Will said.

Kat wondered about the wisdom of that, considering they’d be spending time in dive suits, but she supposed one more cup couldn’t hurt, and they’d have a chance to talk with the filmmakers for a few minutes.

The filmmakers had hired a charter out of Chicago, and the cabin wasn’t luxurious but comfortable and well-appointed. The charter came with Captain Bob Green, who looked like he could’ve been whaling in New England a century earlier, and first mate Jimmy Green, his nephew, an eager young man in his early twenties. They went about their business on the boat, apparently unfazed by any rumors of a curse.

“You’ve had private security watching the site since Brady Laurie was brought up, right?” Will asked as they sat at the galley table and Bernie got them coffee.

Alan King nodded.

“And?”

“Nothing. Well, boats on the lake, but nothing at the dive site,” Alan said. “Thing is—it’s a dive site. We can’t station people 24/7 down at the wreck. And we can’t stop other boats from being out on the lake. My people have reported curious boaters going by, but they just see them looking over, then moving on. Someone with the right equipment could anchor at another spot and go beneath the surface.”

“That’s true, but not so easy. You have to know how to dive, and you have to allow for air consumption,” Will pointed out.

“It’s not that deep,” Earl Candy said, sitting next to Kat. “I was worried about this project, but you don’t have to go below a hundred feet. When you think about it, it could have been a lot worse.”