Prologue:

Egypt, 2589 BC

Pharoh’s high priest lay dying, poisoned by his enemies. Maatkare felt the darkness closing in. It was near, now. There was no hope of recovery. His enemies had made sure of that. He would not live another hour. 

He beckoned to a tall man with a hawk-like nose who stood silent nearby. Maatkare’s voice was a moist croak, weak with the approach of death.

“You have served well, Kheti.”

Kheti bent near his beloved teacher.

“To serve you and the gods has been my honor, Teacher.”

“I have one last task for you. The gift. Bring it.”

Kheti hurried across the room to a tall cabinet, opened the doors, and pressed a concealed latch. A panel in the back of the cabinet slid to the side. With great care, he took a box made of black ebony from the concealed compartment. It felt warm to the touch. The box was carved with ancient letters, the contents locked within. Aware of his responsibility, he brought it to Maatkare’s bedside. The priest laid a blue-veined hand upon the box.

“The new priest will be Ahmet. He must not have this. He will misuse it. He will bring down the wrath of the gods.”

“What would you have me do?”

“Hide it. Place it in my tomb, but be sure Ahmet and his spies do not see you. They must have no knowledge of what you do. The preparations are in place?”

“All has been readied as you instructed.”

Maatkare nodded, paused, struggling for breath. Blood dotted his lips When he spoke again, his voice was thick with phlegm.

“Once you have done this, you must flee. Ahmet will stop at nothing to find out where you have hidden it. You must not let his men take you alive.”

“I know, Teacher. I do not fear death. They will not take me. I am prepared.”

Maatkare grasped Kheti’s hand.

“We shall meet again, in the afterlife.”

“As the gods will, Teacher.”

Half an hour later, Maatkare was dead.

Three days later, the burial ceremonies were almost complete. Maatkare’s sarcophagus had been placed inside the inner chamber. Ahmet had not yet ascended to his new role as high priest. As chief acolyte, it fell to Kheti to perform the final rituals. 

Accompanied by his guards, he made his way to the tomb, the black box concealed under his robe. Inside the box was the gift from the gods. It was a wonderous thing, but far too dangerous to leave to Maatkare’s murderer.

Ordering the guards to wait in the antechamber, Kheti entered the final resting place of his mentor. He placed the black box on a shelf. Turning, he bowed to the sarcophagus that contained the mummified body of his master and exited the room.

The dancing flames of a dozen torches illuminated the underground chamber. Slaves struggled to pull shut the stone doors of the inner tomb, sealing Maatkare’s final resting place. Chanting prayers to the gods, Kheti tied an elaborate knot across the doors, then sealed it with wax.

Kheti touched the knot and closed his eyes.

Goodbye, teacher.  

Guards bearing razor edged swords stood at attention, waiting for Kheti’s orders. He gestured at the slaves.

“Kill them.”

Screams filled the chamber as the blades flashed. A fine mist of blood drifted down onto the granite floor. Kheti turned away into the passage leading to the surface, the guards following behind. Eyes turned downward, he paid no attention to the decorations covering the walls until he came to a portrait of Osiris. Without breaking stride, Kheti pushed against the painted stone and kept walking. A massive slab of rock thundered down from the roof, blocking the passage behind. The cries of the trapped guards faded as he continued along the passage toward the entrance.

Kheti emerged into a world turned gold as Ra gave way to the goddess of night. Not far away, the newly finished pyramid of Sneferu stood black against the setting sun.

A wooden pole lay near the entrance. Kheti picked it up and inserted the end into a slotted stone. He wrapped his hands around the lever and pulled it down. With a deep rumble, the entrance to the tomb collapsed in a pile of rubble. It would soon vanish under the drifting sands of the desert.

Kheti turned and saw four large men with clubs coming across the sands. One gave him a toothless grin.

Ahmet’s men.

He remembered Maatkare’s words. They would question him until they learned where the box had been hidden. No one could withstand the knives of Ahmet’s torturers. Kheti reached under his robe and withdrew a thin, sharp dagger of polished bronze. It gleamed in the bloody rays of the dying sun. He held it in both hands, offered a brief prayer to the gods, and drove it into his heart.

The secret was safe.

For now.

Chapter 1

Elizabeth Harker was lucky to be alive, though there were days when it didn’t feel like it. She’d been back at work in her Virginia headquarters for less than a week.

Some months before, a killer sent by a globalist cabal had put a bullet through the windshield of her Audi. The sniper was dead. It was small consolation.

The bullet had clipped a lung, but the crash had been worse. She’d broken bones. She’d come close to losing her left eye. She could still see out of it, but her vision was blurred.

Her doctor had told her it might clear up.

Or not. 

Sometimes she got migraines. Her right leg was held together by a web of titanium pins and mesh. When she walked, it felt like the leg belonged to someone else. Her left arm still didn’t work right. It hurt when she lifted it to shoulder height. She had new, angry scars. Fortunately for her vanity, the only one that showed was where they’d gone in to repair the eye socket.

The team had split up after the last mission. The Project had been her life for more than a decade. Finding new uses for her contacts and resources was challenging, but she wasn’t giving up. She still had Stephanie at her disposal.

Stephanie had kept everything running while Elizabeth recovered. At the moment, she was down in the computer room, programming new information into the Cray supercomputer that was her pride and joy.

Elizabeth’s phone buzzed. Not many people had that number. The display gave her no information.

She touched the answer button.

“Harker.”

“Director Elizabeth Harker?”

“Yes. Who is this, please?”

“Please hold for the President.”

Hopkins? What does he want?

President Hopkins had been elected on the promise of increased transparency in government and restoring moral values. That had been campaign rhetoric, the slogans of a political creature. Moral values and transparency meant nothing to Hopkins and his backers. Elizabeth couldn’t stand him. He was a corrupt president, controlled by the powerful corporations and foreign interests that had bankrolled his candidacy.

Those hidden backers now had their hands on the levers of power. They cared nothing for the people they were supposed to be governing. They didn’t like the idea of someone like Elizabeth running a unit that might upset their plans.

Following their advice, Hopkins had shut Elizabeth down at the first opportunity. Without government protection, she’d taken the team private and formed the Harker Group as a security consulting firm. The name had changed, but not much else. She was still focused on stopping the people who hated America.

To say there was no love lost between Elizabeth and the White House was an understatement, which made this early morning phone call more than unexpected.

“Good morning, Director Harker. Thank you for holding.”

She recognized Hopkins’s distinctive, raspy voice.

He’s being pleasant. What does he want?

“Good morning, Mister President.”

“I’m sure you’re surprised to hear from me, Director. I’m wondering if we could put aside our differences for the moment in the interests of our nation’s security?”

Oh, oh.

“Of course, Mister President. How may I help?”

“I’d like you to come in for a chat. I’ve taken the liberty of sending a car for you. It should be outside your home as we speak.”

Elizabeth walked over to the front window of her Georgetown brownstone and looked out. A black Suburban with tinted windows idled by the curb.

“Yes sir, I see it outside.”

“Good. I’ll expect you shortly at the White House.”

“Yes, sir.”

“We’ll talk then. Goodbye, Director.”

He disconnected.

Elizabeth looked at her phone. She disliked and distrusted Hopkins. He was a corrupt and venal man, but when the president asked you to come in, you went. With a glance in the hall mirror to check her appearance, she locked the door behind her and went to the waiting Suburban. A Secret Service agent wearing a dark suit held the rear door open for her.

A chat. What the hell did that mean?

She guessed she’d find out soon enough.